


For Azeroth

by Weatherwax



Series: We do what the living cannot [2]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Blood and Gore, Both factions are ruled by egotistical assholes, Canon-Typical Violence, Death Knight shenanigans, Fantastic Racism, Gay Sex, Humor, M/M, Military/political coup(s), Sex jokes because come on it's part of the Acherus Chronicles, The dead doing what the living cannot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-01-31 06:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 38,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12676263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weatherwax/pseuds/Weatherwax
Summary: As the Legion threat begins to fade away from memory, the cretins in charge of both Horde and Alliance start itching to throw their armies at each other's throats again.What they haven't counted on is that their defeat at the Broken Shore has opened the eyes of those who were simply their pawns before to the very real threat to all of Azeroth that inter-faction war represents.And they will stop at nothing to protect their home.This is a sequel to The Acherus Chronicles => careful, contains shenanigans.





	1. Sometimes the hand of fate must be forced

 

“My friends, I am truly sorry to say that the information we gathered is accurate,” the gaunt hooded figure said.

“So it will begin again,” a second, this one large, with enormous horns that protruded out of their hood, said in a huff.

“Who’s the idiot starting it this time?” a third, only the tip of their hood visible above the table, asked.

“Does it even matter by now? How many will be fit to fight afterwards? Ach, Azeroth will be doomed by these cretins!” another growled, and hit the table with a strong, though small, hand.

“I don’t wanna do this anymore,” yet another said, and their green pointy ears shook. “We’re friends now. We did the job while they sat on their lame asses crying, or pretended nothing more important than their own personal issues was going on. None of them cared for us, why should be care for them?”

“Really? How about us? I didn’t even get to mourn my Master, those arrogant assholes just barged in and said we were each other’s enemies now! The NERVE of doing that after all we gave for Azeroth in the first place!”

“My informants have also warned of what will happen. They will kill all our friends, our families, all over again, if we do nothing,” a low, handsome voice said from under a hood. “They say they fight for home, for family, but they are willing to destroy all that for petty revenge. May Light forgive the sins I’m about to commit, for I cannot let this happen. I’m in.”

“May the Light forgive us both, Marcus, for I cannot, will not allow it either,” a timid female said from under her hood.

“What of Velen? And Khadgar?” a sinister voice reverberated from across the table.

“They will suffer the same fate as the other madmen if they favor one side over the other again.” a sad, tired voice sounded. “They have put the welfare of Azeroth below that of their petty politics. I do not know Velen enough… but I do know my apprentice, and I have never expected this of him. Of anyone, but not him,” Medivh shook his head. “Alas, he has been corrupted as well. I saw him quietly accept the news of the warmongers’ decisions, without a word of warning against their follies. He and the rest of the Council of Six are divided, and will eventually favor one side again. The Tirisgarde cannot accept that.”

“Velen prizes his allies more than Azeroth herself, now that his people have the means to escape it and a safe haven to return, albeit nearly destroyed,” the timid female said quietly. “He is no longer fit to lead the Conclave.”

The sinister-voiced figure stood.

“Those who wish to participate in this must understand that what we do, we do knowing we will be hated, hunted and destroyed by the same people, the same Titan we wish to save. What we do is for honor, but without it; for love, but unrequited; for family and friends, but by turning our backs on most of them, when not all.” he explained, his hood facing Marcus directly. “The chance we come out of this on our feet is impossibly small; that we go undiscovered, non-existent. We have accepted this as our fate long ago, but most of you are living; if this burden is more than you can take, our brethren will take you and yours to Draenor, where you will be safe and under watch until the deeds are done. But you must decide _now_.”

One by one, the leaders of Azeroth’s Orders stood, and pledged themselves to their common cause, until only the Archdruid of the Emerald Dream was left.

The Night Elf took a deep breath, and pushed his hood back, revealing the tears in his eyes.

“Anu'dorini talah,” he breathed. “My heart shall bleed forever, but my duty is to Nature first, my people second. May the ancient Keepers forgive us.”

* * *

 

 

If one thing the people huddled under an outcropping could agree on, it had to be that Sholazar Basin was shitty when it rained.

“No wonder the bitch Arthas never entirely conquered this part of Northrend, I feel as if I’m going to dissolve,” Nazgrim growled, shivering.

“This is worse than Zangarmarsh,” Jace Darkweaver agreed with a grimace from under his wings. “But I thought you dead people didn’t feel cold.”

“It’s not the cold, it’s the damp,” Darion explained. “Wet weather and walking corpses aren’t friends, no matter how well-preserved we are. Our bones hurt, our skin feels like it will fall off, those of us who still have lungs feel the need to cough all the time, and it doesn’t help we can’t use saronite armor when we meet here, oiled leather only holds back so much. Look, they’re coming.”

A vortex appeared up on a mountain, and after that they saw two gliding figures coming their way.

“How did it go?” he asked as soon as his friend Exu – and not-quite-so secretly still Deathlord – got off his goblin glider.

“Not very good. The Council is gaining ground in the Undercity, but we got word that Sylvanas will soon attack Stormwind, not that if she wasn’t we’d still have much hope. Wrathion has officially joined the Alliance. With the crazy whelp in his bed and the rabid mutt by his side, the Alliance doing something equally stupid is only a matter of time.”

“There is also the Azerite issue,” Hundred, still the Illidari Slayer and elected leader of the demon hunters after Illidan made the ultimate sacrifice (though some believed Illidan had only pushed for the position of jailor of the Legion because the twisted, terrifying atrocities his Slayer and the Deathlord had commited against Sargeras’ lackeys had made him decide he could have some fun too) said, and touched the artifact on his neck. “Too many people want its valuable power, and since Azeroth bleeds it because of conflict, well, peace becomes unlikely, to say the least.”

“At least this time action is being taken early. The Uncrowned reported that the SI:7 has no clue of their mole, and should begin giving Greymane the right ideas soon,” Kayn Sunfury said.

“There is only the matter of choosing those who will be sacrificed in order to maintain our secrecy,” Darion said, and looked at Thassarian and Koltira. “Have the factions contacted you?”

“No, Highlord. Apparently Koltira’s escape from the Undercity and my involvement in it have gravely diminished my status in the Alliance,” Thassarian said.

“And for some reason Lor’themar has refrained to contact me, as well.”

“Good, because we need you two in a very special mission,” the Deathlord said, and the death knights turned to him. “Someone must keep Bolvar duped while we remove the undead civilians to prevent him from doing something foolish like contacting the Alliance, and we are in sore need of untainted eyes and ears in Icecrown Citadel, what with the Old Gods coming out of the sewers again. Consider babysitting the Lich King a compensation for your services, boys. Darion and Trollbane’s job will be much harder.”

* * *

 

 

Alonsus Faol kneeled in front of his king’s tomb, and prayed.

A while later, he heard the rustling of cloth as a figure kneeled next to him.

“I’ll be leaving for Stormwind tomorrow,” Calia said quietly.

“This… shouldn’t be your burden to bear.”

She shook her head and took his hand in hers.

“The dead have done more for me than the living ever did,” she whispered, and raised his hand to her face. “It is time I pay back, little as I can.”

“Calia…”

“I know,” she said, and sighed. “But know this; no matter what happens, what I feel for you makes it worth it.”

She touched his face lovingly, and kissed his dead lips.

“Light be with you, my love,” she said, with a last kiss to the palm of his hand before letting it go, and left before he could recover from his shock.

* * *

 

 

“We thank you so much for your offer, and we would take it,” Leryssa said quietly, her eldest son perched on her hip, “but the SI:7 will notice if people begin to leave the city, Highlord. Empty houses arouse suspicion, and suspicion leads to violence. It is best if we wait more before we run.”

“Empty houses won’t be a problem, Leryssa,” a woman said, lowering her hood.

“Muh,” Leryssa mumbled, her eyes nearly popping out of her sockets. “MUM?” she screamed, and her son cooed in confusion as Vivian came forward and picked him from her daughter’s trembling arms.

“Look at my gorgeous grandson,” Vivian said, and the toddler smiled. “Don’t look at me like that, Leryssa. Saving you, and these,” she said, putting a hand on Leryssa’s pregnant belly, “is worth the nuisance of being undead for a while.”

“How… how can this be?” Leryssa mumbled, and touched her mother’s flawless skin. “You… you were dead for so long, but you… you don’t look undead.”

“Eyr’s Valkyries,” Darion explained. “We asked for Odyn’s help, and he called upon Eyr so she could decide by herself. When we explained the plan, she agreed.”

“If I recall correctly, she said it’d be the best revenge she could ever get on Sylvanas, too,” Thoras Trollbane chipped in.

“Your plan then is to evacuate as many civilians from Azeroth as you can and replace them with their undead ancestors, so if there is another faction war…”

“Only the living joining in the war will die, yes.”

“But what about the Forsaken, and the Ebon Blade?”

“The Forsaken who do not follow Sylvanas blindly have disagreed with her methods ever since she stopped granting the new undead their free-will,” Darion explained. “They are not suicidal, but do not wish to over extend their undeaths, either. Their aim is to be in peace and, if such is their fate, that the Forsaken eventually die out. As for the Ebon Blade, as long as we can make sure what happened to us won’t happen to anyone else and we take our revenge on all who have had a hand on making us what we are, we have no problem with dying the true death.”

Leryssa pulled a chair and sat down heavily.

“Does Thass know about this?”

“Why, dear, of course not. And don’t you babble either, I met that nice Deathlord and wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to him,” Vivian said, and let the child down carefully, cooing as the boy showed her he could walk.

Leryssa sighed.

“Well, it is past time that the factions stopped fighting…” she relented.

“And Draenor is a wonderful place, you’ll love it. Both Orcs and Draenei there have committed to taking good care of our living until Azeroth is safe to return,” Trollbane added.

* * *

 

 

In the Undercity, the human girl whimpered in her cage when the apothecary came into the room.

“Don’t make me force this down your throat,” he said coldly, and gave her the glass vial.

She took it and started to sob at the green liquid. “I don’t want to die, please…”

“Take it, or deal with the consequences.”

She shivered, and drank, knowing there were worse fates than death to those who refused.

After a long while, she raised her eyes to the undead, confused.

“Nothing happened,” she said.

Faranell sighed in relief.

“Good,” he said. “Know that you have helped save your brethren, human.” He then pulled a dagger and gave her a quick and mostly painless death, if the surprise in her dead stare could be trusted.

* * *

 

 

The Maw of the Damned had been consigned to history after Sargeras had been defeated, its mission done. The Apocalypse was Darion’s.

The Blades of the Fallen Prince, however, were still his, and he pulled them off their scabbard built into the wall of his new, smaller room at the Acherus, before using the hearstone to his Garrison in Draenor.

He summoned Kyranastraz and mounted, heading to Gorgrond’s forest. He landed on top of an isolated hill, and sat on the ground, one blade in each hand, and crossed them, concentrating.

He opened his eyes to an enraged scream, and saw the man struggle desperately against his fel bonds.

“Hello, Arthas.”


	2. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, they say

The two elves were covered from head to toe, huddled in an unobtrusive corner of the ship’s deck.

They watched quietly as the Alliance crew worked, paying attention to every movement. It didn’t pay to be careless, even if their bluish ears didn’t give them away; the Grand Magister had warned them, before releasing them into High Priest Faol’s care, about the humans’ tendency to make passes at the elves, especially the young ones.

Over two years of severe, dedicated studies and training had led them to where they were, and Azeroth’s future depended on their mission, which, in its turn, depended solely on Alleria Windrunner’s gullibility and hunger for power.

It was amazing how easy it had been. Everyone – even Lor’themar, who they had been sure would spot the deception – had bought the ruse hook, line and sinker.

They peeked with their silver eyes at the human female across the deck from them, looking out into the sea with a pensive yet regal expression.

Calia watched impassive as Stormwind Harbor came into view.

‘Alea jacta est,’ she thought, an old saying in Lordaeron. ‘May the Light be with us in this time of need, and understand that the suffering we impose to the few is for the ultimate good of the many.’

* * *

 

Renzik “The Shiv” plucked the tiny scroll out of the crow’s leg.

Things had been going slow for the past two years in the factions, something that was in itself cause for alarm for the Uncrowned. Sylvanas’ threat of attacking Stormwind hadn’t been fulfilled – yet – and every day passed meant the attack would be more elaborate.

Which meant the Uncrowned’s most relevant mole in the SI:7 – its second in command, in fact – was eager for some decent news.

‘B. moving today, plan is both coast and B.S. underground system. P. has been tested and is safe. F.’

Renzik chuckled darkly, before burning the message in the fireplace, imagining the Banshee’s face as her plan flopped belly-up.

* * *

 

Tyrande was always beautiful, but even more when she smiled.

Looking at all the Azerite sprouting in Teldrassil now, she was absolutely glowing, Altruis thought bitterly.

Of all the places in the planet the blood of the world-soul could appear, it had of course chosen this. Lord Illidan would’ve laughed – anyone would think it’d happen to Nordrassil first, because of the second Well of Eternity, but no, apparently Night Elves living here made the power of irony too strong.

“Azeroth has truly chosen us,” Tyrande said, touching the shards protruding from an enormous branch. “Soon the Alliance will have enough power to finally be rid of the Horde forever; it is up to the Kal’dorei to cleanse the planet from their evil!”

Altruis held back a deeply felt groan.

Coming back to Teldrassil had felt strange; he did not feel welcome here, and he truly, deeply missed his Sin’dorei, Naga and Broken brothers and sisters in arms. The bonds the Illidari had with each other were much stronger than the ones with those of their individual races, especially since none of them had any immediate family left. In truth, he now realized, all they really had was each other.

The Slayer had been right; none of this beauty belonged to the Illidari. With the Legion threat gone, they felt ill-at-ease among their untainted brethren, and the domesticity was alien to them.

Altruis had to concede that the Slayer’s proposal of sharing land with the Ebon Blade far away from the natural races of the world was a sound one. Despite all, the Illidari and the Ebon Blade were much more akin than not; they were both damned with a need for violence, both damned with being hated and distrusted by everyone else, both unable to find a place in the world among the civilized races. But they could help each other stay strong and vigilant over the enemies of Azeroth.

And far, very far from this petty, ridiculous faction rivalry.

“May Elune remind us of the evil that comes to Azeroth as a whole,” he said, but Tyrande waved him off.

“It has been three years and nothing else happened; Malfurion has gone back to his sleep, even. I’m sure the Old Gods are still safely imprisoned. The Horde is a much closer threat, and the Alliance must deal with it soon, for Azeroth’s sake as well,” she said, and broke a chip of the shard she was inspecting. “I will send this to Mekkatorque at once. If anyone can develop a way to use this new resource, it is him.”

Later on, he met with Asha Ravensong, at the barracks the demon hunters had been allotted at the outskirts of Darnassus, and shared the news with her.

“We have sacrificed everything else to destroy an enemy Lord Illidan was not afraid of,” she said quietly. “Why shouldn’t we sacrifice the rest to destroy one he fears?”

* * *

 

“What do you mean _the plague didn’t work_?” Sylvanas roared, and Nathanos winced internally.

“The apothecaries did say they were worried about security becoming lax due to you not living in the Undercity anymore, Dark Lady. The Alliance could have gained access to the antidote somehow,” the informer said from where she kneeled in front of her .

“Incompetent fools,” Sylvanas growled, and began pacing the room.

“If I may, Dark Lady? There may be other targets as important to the Alliance as Stormwind, but less defended,” the Forsaken informer suggested eagerly.

Sylvanas stopped, and the Forsaken girl felt encouraged to continue.

“The Night Elves have given shelter to the dogs in Teldrassil,” she said. “It is relatively isolated, what with the heavy casualties the Draenei suffered in the war against the Legion and the Vindicaar under Turalyon’s command, stationed in Elwynn Forest. Perhaps…?”

“Hmmm. It is true that Velen and most of the Draenei army are hanging around their ‘High Exarch’. It’s exactly what makes Stormwind such an… appetizing target. Getting rid of most of its leaders in one fell swoop…” Sylvanas said with a wistful voice. “On the other hand, getting rid of Greymane’s pack and those inconvenient druids…” she continued, weighing both options on her hands.

“It would be a much more convenient target, yes,” Nathanos commented, and ran a hand down his beard. “But… it would draw a swift retribution from the major forces from the other continent, and the Undercity would be nigh defenseless.”

Sylvanas hummed.

“Thank you for your suggestion... what was your name again?”

“Minerva, Dark Lady. Minerva Ravensorrow.”

“Yes. Good girl, Minerva. You are dismissed.”

* * *

 

Death knights weren’t sensible to cold. To warmth, yes, and warmth was terribly delicious, but not to cold.

Still, having sex in the open at Icecrown wasn’t comfortable at all. The wind was harsh enough to dry their skin to the point of cracking – and that hurt. Especially in their most delicate areas.

So, in order to pretend they had at least a bit of privacy, Koltira and Thassarian had seeked refuge in the old, abandoned Argent Tournament barracks, where they kept a pile of furs over a bed and some supplies for when being around the Lich King became unbearable.

“Are you sure he won’t spy on us here?” Koltira asked as they kissed, hastily removing the last of their clothes amidst the armor cluttering the floor.

“The vestiges of Light traps at the borders keep the Scourge away, he won’t see us,” Thassarian answered, pulling him to the bed.

“Good,” Koltira said, straddling his hips. “It’s bad enough that our time is limited.”

Afterwards, they lighted a fire for a meal.

“Do you think Bolvar believes we don’t notice him leaving the Citadel?” Koltira asked and stretched his toes towards the fire, enjoying the luxury of the heat as much as he could.

“I don’t know. He seems stranger and stranger for the past years. It was an actual good decision to send us, in the end. All that poking around in Ulduar, and gathering all that saronite, his becoming more and more active… it doesn’t bode well,” Thassarian said while frying some glacial salmon. “Light, sometimes I feel like bringing Nomi to the Citadel, at least his food was warm.”

Koltira grimaced.

* * *

 

Despite what the living said – and of what his new body could do – the Dark Lady had never called Nathanos to her personal quarters in Orgrimmar or anywhere else before. So it was with a great deal of trepidation (and suspicion) that Nathanos made his way there that night.

“My Lady,” he said, kneeling as soon as he closed the door behind him, and keeping his gaze firmly on the ground.

At the Undercity, Sylvanas had donned the same armor she had when she had died, seeing no need for personal hygiene; in Orgrimmar the Forsaken were forced to endure the fastidiousness of the living, and soon she had had a large array of new armor (all fashioned after her old one) to choose from, and sleeping attire had been brought in from Silvermoon, though unlike many Forsaken (including Nathanos) she never slept.

Nathanos had twice tried to go on without sleep as she did, once soon after they were freed from Arthas’ control and once since obtaining his new body, but he had given up; the lack of rest made him paranoid, feeling as if his spirit was trying to leave his body in search of true death. A couple of hours of shut-eye now and then prevented the discomfort, though.

Sylvanas’ willpower amazed him, sometimes.

He caught a glimpse of delicate fabric, and his eyes swerved to the side without his control, to see the hem of her nightgown cover her delicate bluish foot. He quickly fixed his gaze to the rug in which he kneeled again.

“I was thinking,” Sylvanas said as she paced. “The Desolate Council is becoming a thorn in my side, Nathanos. Their opposition vexes me in front of the Horde, and with this last blunder with the plague, I feel I cannot trust them at all.”

“Give me the word and they will all be destroyed, Dark Lady,” he replied, and she absent-mindedly knocked on his head.

“I cannot just have them wiped out by my command, my foolish champion. The other races of the Horde would never understand. They already look upon us with suspicion; I cannot have them judge me by their biased standards. However… if the _Alliance_ were to destroy them…”

Nathanos raised his eyes to her, in shock.

“But how, Dark Lady?”

She gave him a triumphant smile.

“You said so yourself; if the Horde attacks the Night Elves, the Alliance will exert swift retribution, and most probably attack the Undercity. Of course, the Horde will defend it – but maybe not too much that we actually _save_ it.”

He stuttered.

“But Lordaeron,” he started, and she shushed him.

“Lordaeron has served my purposes for as long as the Forsaken were loyal. Now they bend over to the Alliance like traitorous cowards. I will have no one – _no one_ – question my decisions, Nathanos. And besides,” she smiled cruelly, “the rest of the Horde will surely be sympathetic for the loss of my people.”

* * *

 

Arebia Wintercall came out of the Death Gate and hurried past Thalanos into the Acherus without acknowledging him.

He raised an eyebrow, but shrugged afterwards. Whatever was so urgent his own lover couldn’t say hello before relaying to the Deathlord would reach his ears soon enough.

The Night Elf Death Knight found her boss in the improvised command room in a corner of the mess hall – dealing with maps of both Azeroth and Draenor demanded room – marking the location of the last shipment from Teldrassil with a weary-looking Darion Mograine.

“Deathlord! Highlord!” she called out, and they looked at her in sync.

“Ardwin has informed us that Thalyssra has been ordered to move the Nightborne against Lor’danel. The druids have been informed as well, sir.”

“Good. Remember, all of the civilians must be removed swiftly. If the druids can’t do it, do not hesitate in throwing whoever is left behind to the Acherus, we’ll do something about it when they get here.”

“You’ll fry their minds,” Darion warned.

Exu considered for a second. “True. Tell the druids to focus on the older people then, kids won’t be impressed by a Death Gate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I know that Common isn't Latin but it does share some words with it, so I used the expression, yes.


	3. Working with goblins is great, their reputation is what screws up everything

“Why?”

Koltira and Thassarian blinked in unison.

“Well… Naxxramas has been empty and useless since Kel’thuzad was defeated, my Lord. So Highlord Mograine believes it might still be of service, it being much larger than the Acherus and all. I believe he asked you?” Thassarian said, confusion evident in his face.

“Mograine asked for it then, and not your _Deathlord_?”

Koltira stared at Bolvar, deadpan.

“My Lord, the Deathlord has left the Ebon Blade to serve the Horde. We have had no news of him for the past two years. You yourself have suggested Highlord Mograine to remove the Deathlord from command.”

Bolvar squinted at them for a long minute, and harrumphed.

“Very well. Carry on.”

Later, at the Carrion Fields, Thassarian let out a breath he had been holding since they had left the Lich King’s presence.

“Light, all I could think back there was ‘relax your face, relax your face,’ I was sure I’d give us away,” Thassarian said.

Koltira sighed.

“Compensation for our services… I swear, if we manage to survive this I am buying us a farm in Pandaria,” he growled, and Thassarian stared at him in humorous shock.

* * *

  

Wrathion was here.

Wrathion was here in Stormwind, _to stay_.

Anduin’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest as he heard the news, and now he _raced_ through the corridors, his manservant running after him, the anticipation making it impossible to keep his composure.

Light, Wrathion was here to stay now, and Anduin didn’t know what he wanted more, to punch the arrogant dragon in the face or to kiss him breathless.

Maybe both. Yes, probably both. Kiss first, punch later, blood always made such a mess of things.

He halted in front of the doors, his hair half-escaped from his tie, cheeks flushed, and grinned.

“All hail His Majesty Anduin Wrynn, High King of the Alliance, King of Stormwind, Lord of the House of Wrynn, Son of the Wolf, Commander of all Alliance Forces!”

He entered the throne room, and stopped short, blinking.

Wrathion was there, but right beside him was a blonde woman in priestly robes, a woman older than Jaina Proudmoore, with a strangely familiar face.

He moved and sat at his throne, giving Wrathion an inquisitive look.

The dragon bowed and the female gave Anduin a curt nod instead of a curtsy.

“Your majesty. It is my pleasure to introduce you to Queen Calia Menethil of Lordaeron,” he said, gesturing to the woman, and Anduin’s jaw fell open.

* * *

 

One of the reasons Exu hadn’t been in the least unhappy about using the Maw of the Damned to burn the energy of Sargeras’ sword away was his new – and in his opinion much improved – weapon.

After Varimathras was killed he had filched the demon’s skull and spine fresh from his body, and with the help of his demon hunter lover had both revived and bound the demon in the two-handed mace built from those remains with fel energy, unholy blood magic, and some creative runeforging.

Even at the Acherus the thing drew attention to itself; a cloud of bloody vapor swirled around the sturdy skull, some meat and sinews still attaching the parts together an even more sinister touch, the red rag used as a rough handle nearly lost in its gruesome visage.

The fearsome image wasn’t its best feature, no. Thori’talah’s best feature was the one Exu valued the most: providing _information_.

With Varimathras bound to his will in the mace and Arthas in the Blades of the Fallen Prince the Deathlord had access to at least some information about how Sylvanas’ mind worked.

He knew, for example, that she never slept, never ate, never did anything that reminded her of living, if she could get away with it.

No wonder the bitch was crazy! The less physical body one had left when they were raised the more sleep they needed to ground their spirit, regardless of the fact they didn’t ever _feel_ the need. It was just like eating, drinking or breathing (for those who had lungs that worked); you were never hungry, or thirsty, or had the reflex to breathe, but if you didn’t eat and drink you still fainted from lack of nourishment and if you went underwater you’d drown even if you were already dead. Kel’thuzad had explained that to him on the first day he had been up an about, still way back under Arthas, damn it.

Banshees and shades were the ones who most needed the rest, since the lack of grounding into flesh the more physical undead had (and its need to eat and drink) made the soulless spirits easy prey to the Void shades that haunted all previous Scourge, from whom the only escapes were either sleep or entering their phase and killing them, as he had learned from a colleague who had helped Koltira with his.

He had then rattled Koltira around by the ear until he helped everyone else in the Acherus get rid of their own haunts, but still everyone stole a catnap here and there, otherwise they got paranoid, and nobody liked an insane killing machine around, especially one that suffered from the eternal hunger; he remembered once he had spent a week without sleeping, they had to chain him up and beat him on the head until he passed out and came back more coherent than a ghoul.

“Are you _seriously_ fucking his eye socket with your finger?”

The Deathlord raised his head from where he was doing exactly that while he reminisced about the Banshee Queen’s problem.

“Your wings are hidden,” he said, and Illidan’s Slayer smirked.

“I don’t have to be readily recognizable anymore,” he said, entering the room and closing the door.

Hundred had also benefitted from pillaging Varimathras’ body, with Illidan’s express consent; he had eaten the demon’s heart to further enhance his power and to trap Varimathra’s soul in his body until it was sucked into Thori’thalah, and with a bit of creative life magic from the monks he had been able to keep his appearance unchanged – except for his markings, which had gone from a bright yellow to a strong fel green, and his wings, which were now as monstrous as Illidan’s  – in order to not raise suspicion. The bulk of the change he went through from consuming such a powerful demon was contained in the structure of his own bones, the energy stored there to come forth under his will.  

“How are things on your end?” Exu asked, laying the mace on a tiny desk in the left-hand corner of the room and sitting on the small bed on the opposite side.

“Ready. Thalyssra’s forces should reach Lor’danel in a few days. Will you come and see?” the Slayer answered, straddling his lap.

“I’ll be overseeing the things at Naxxramas. Hopefully we’ll have the place ready soon, it was very kind of Darion and Tirion to keep it up where it was by using Kel’thuzad’s phylactery as a power source instead of letting it fall over the Carrion Fields,” Exu replied, nuzzling his nape and reaching for his long, fiery red ponytail.

The burning smell of fel magic, while foul for most of the living, was one more of the several things that attracted him to this elf, and he knew the fact he himself smelled of blood and battle and death was irresistible for a certain kind of living individual as well – orc and vrykul women were drawn to it much like flies, the same happening to both genders of all races that were attracted to danger and violence.

“Considering there is a fair chance I won’t survive for long,” Hundred said casually, slipping a hand inside the Deathlord’s linen breeches, “I would like to ask you a favor.”

“Mmmm?”

Hundred smirked as the demon inside him began to scream.

“I want you to chain me and then rape the demon with it… with _him_. Make it slow, and make it hurt,” he said, looking straight at where Thori’thalah rested. ‘ _And you will enjoy it_ ,’ he told the demon, who rattled inside him in panic, knowing that yes, he _would_ like it, because the demon hunter would force his own pleasure in him, and oh, there was nothing that pleasured Lorin the Hundredeyed, Illidan’s Slayer, leader of all Illidari more than torturing and defiling the demon soul who lived inside him in ways that would make Sargeras himself pale.

(Hundred often wondered what the Pantheon – if they were still alive, that is – thought of what Illidan was most probably doing to the fallen Titan right now. That he was able to give Illidan creative ideas on how to get even with Sargeras was the only thing that made losing his master, with whom he truly had a noble friendship, hurt less.)

An hour later, the residents of the Acherus would give the Deathlord’s room a huge berth while moving to deal with their everyday matters, pretending they weren’t hearing anything.

* * *

 

Thalyssra was anxious.

It was the first time the Nightborne would be fighting for the Horde. The objective was important, too: the small port that connected the night elves and the draenei with Eastern Kingdoms.

Lor’danel wasn’t all that well-defended, but with Teldrassil and the Exodar close by troops could reach it quickly.

And there was always the threat of the Vindicaar.

So Thalyssra had opted for the guerilla tactics she was comfortable with: rogues and mages infiltrating the place and dealing with the guards quietly, without disturbing the civilians, who would be woken up after the town was taken over and offered escape.

* * *

  

“There is no sign of Horde activity here. Are you absolutely sure of your information?” Vereesa asked, and Scout Captain Daelin nodded.

“Yes, Ranger-General, the Nightborne will attack. The draenei intelligence was certain; they saw the preparations being taken in Ashenvale. Our informers say the attack is definitely going to happen tonight. They must be coming from the forest.”

Vereesa nodded. “Plant sentries on the outskirts of town and also at the port. I want reports every half hour.”

* * *

 

Meanwhile, two Horde ships anchored two miles down from Lor’danel.

The soldiers quickly reached the shore and began marching north, following the beach.

Sylvanas, Nathanos and Saurfang moved quietly. Nathanos had been pleasantly surprised when Saurfang had proposed the idea: move in from the flank to help the Nightborne in their first assignment for the Horde.

It was a perfect cover for the other three ships moving in to strike Teldrassil.

They were halfway there when a scout came running to her.

“Warchief, the Silver Covenant is in Lor’danel,” he said. ‘Ranger-General Vereesa Windrunner is there, I saw her with my own eyes. They’ve brought a battalion of rangers and a score of human mages.”

“We should warn Thalyssra,” Saurfang alerted. “They are going in expecting little resistance!”

Nathanos watched as Sylvanas first widened her eyes, then tilted her head in thought.

She smiled.

“Tell Thalyssra to gather her forces to cut the exits from the town. Her rogues are to deal with the mages and rangers. We’ll attack first – they’re obviously not expecting two batallions reaching the port from the beach. Tell her that Vereesa is not to be touched. She is _mine_.”

* * *

  

“Ranger-General! The Horde is attacking from the beach! There are at least two full orc batallions!”

Vereesa ran out of the building and ran towards the watchtower.

“Sylvanas,” she breathed, anger nearly taking over her. “Move the rangers right away! We must stop them before they enter the town area!”

She ran to the watchtowers at the beach, going up the stairs three at a time, and readied her bow. She could see the forces moving in, and focused on counting the time until they were in range.

* * *

 

Scout Captain Daelin ran to the other side of Lor’danel, closer to the forest, while barking orders. He was met in the middle of the way by a bleeding mage, coming out of invisibility to nearly faint in his arms.

“Nightborne rogues… broke our stealth… killed the rangers…” she said, and fainted.

He handed her to a night elf soldier, cursing their fate, and kept running.

At that moment, the bulk of the Horde forces reached the port.

* * *

  

The demon hunters were quietly perched on various points over the trunk of the world tree.

“Slayer, Lady S’theno has confirmed the Horde ships coming this way.”

“Thanks, Evelune. Remember, we don’t move unless they give us reason to.”

* * *

  

At Darnassus, the druids who had already removed most of the civilian population of Teldrassil's smaller villages to the now purged Sylvermist Isle, where members of the other orders belonging to the Alliance races soothed the people by telling them the good king Anduin had put the evacuation plans in place to avoid casualties should the Horde attack, were now discreetly moving the capital’s civilians away with the help of their risen relatives, courtesy of Darion and Trollbane who were quickly working in tandem to move them in from the Acherus via Death Gate.

* * *

  

One hour into the battle the Alliance forces were being decimated, but Vereesa saw her golden chance at ending it.

Sylvanas was moving to the other side of town, where the boats to Teldrassil and Azuremyst Isle were still docked, away from the melee. Vereesa took her chance: she strafed quickly, nocking an arrow, and aimed true.

She grasped the bow tightly with the shock of the blow at her back. Two, three, four more arrows were buried into her, and she fell to her knees.

“Did you think I wasn’t aware of you, little sister?” Sylvanas asked, approaching, Saurfang on her side, Nathanos quickly joining them from where he had shot the youngest Windrunner.

She crouched in front of her wounded sister, and caressed her face with a cold hand. “I wished to spare you the pain, but you wouldn’t let me,” she sighed, shaking her head as Vereesa vomited blood. “Don’t worry, it hurts but it will all be over soon. And we’ll be together for eternity, you and me.”

She rose, and turned to look at the island across.

“Look at all that azurite,” she said, chuckling. “So many resources, so much power. Surely the Night Elves won’t miss a few clusters, right?”

Nathanos laughed obligingly.

“Nathanos, you have your orders. Saurfang, please see to the prisoners. I will take vigil over my sister.”

* * *

 

Nathanos Blightcaller would never, ever forget this night. He had left the Dark Lady to quickly board his ship, overseeing the work of the Horde squadron approaching the World Tree. The soldiers reached the port quickly, and landed in full fight against the few guards protecting it, while the goblins began moving their shredders to remove all the Azerite they could.

The idea was to cause enough of a ruckus to force the night elves to send enough people down that the Horde kill count would make Genn Greymane to convince the boy-king of Stormwind to send an elite assault force into the Undercity, and use that pretext to kill the Desolate Council.

* * *

 

“Slayer! Shredders coming in!”

“Illidari! Move at my signal! We strike as one!” the Slayer said, and let his wings out, the talons at the end glowing green with felfire.

They took to flight, and gathered at the face of the tree that was furthest from view from Lor’danel, where an enormous, gigantic cluster of Azerite crystals ripped into the tree from its roots almost up to the canopy.

“For Azeroth!” he yelled, and pulled the power from within, letting it out into a powerful fel beam, nearly strong enough to rival Illidan’s.

The Azerite exploded.

* * *

 

“What’s happening?” Tyrande screamed as the tree suddenly groaned under her feet; deafening explosions seemed to come from everywhere, the moonwells were drying up alarmingly as if Teldrassil pulled from their waters.

“The Horde is attacking! We need to evacuate!” Shandris Feathermoon yelled, grabbing her arm and pulling her away from the temple.

“No! Malfurion! He’s still asleep!”

“The druids will take care of him! Come, Tyrande, we need to move _now_!”

Meanwhile, the soldiers and helpers who tried to evacuate the citizens were quickly knocked out and removed to Azuremyst Isle by the druids.

Soon, only the newly risen undead night elves remained. They patted each other on the back for the job well done, and then spent the rest of their short unlife saying goodbye to their beloved home and praying for Elune to forgive the sacrifices they enforced on Azeroth to save her life. 

* * *

  

Nathanos watched in true horror as the Azerite deposits exploded in sequence, quickly reaching the soldiers and goblin engineers that had landed to harvest it.

He looked to the side to where his first in command was yelling something he could not hear, and mumbled for a retreat, as the first embers began to rain upon the ships.

At the shore, Sylvanas had just laid her sister’s fresh corpse, divested of its arrows, on the ground when she heard the first explosion. She stood and stared, stunned beyond words, as in a matter of minutes the entire world tree burned, the fire lighting the area in a nightmarish red.

“Warchief, we have to move,” Saurfang said, still huffing from the running. “The Draenei will reach this place soon; if we don’t move out they’ll think we’re the ones who started this!”

“But I didn’t… I didn’t tell them to do this!”

“Please, Warchief,” Saurfang pleaded, touching her shoulder. “We need to go _now,"_ he said, and went to pick up Vereesa's body, and Sylvanas followed him, for once stunned beyond words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, almost forgot. The mace's name I game is bone valley mace, you can check out its unique model on Wowhead.


	4. Blood ties change with time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody reading this still? 
> 
> If you are, thank you so much :D
> 
> Also, poor Bolvar.

As much as Koltira and Thassarian valued their privacy and hated the idea of Bolvar realizing they were a couple, let alone seeing anything, they were also a couple, and in love, and both had a serious violence kink, so honestly it was inevitable.

Bolvar had woken from his feverish Helm dreams with a start, and realizing with growing uneasiness it was ANOTHER of those visions he couldn’t remember beyond indistinct whispering he decided to take a stroll around the Citadel, maybe even get something to eat (which he normally avoided doing because he didn’t really feel hunger anymore and more importantly because there were exactly zero toilets up in the spire and he didn’t really feel comfortable using the facilities installed for the living that had inhabited the Citadel back in Arthas’ days, which were located all the way down by the mess hall.

Not to mention there were no housekeepers in his current staff, which consisted of exactly two death knights, and that because Mograine had lent them. He knew death knights ate, but did they use toilets? Bolvar’s sense of smell had been burned along with everything else, so he couldn’t rely on that sense to know. And even if they did, did they clean after themselves?

It was in this unsettled frame of mind that Bolvar came off the transporter and spotted Thassarian and Koltira fighting in the Upper Citadel corridors.

It had started simply enough, with a humorous jab from one to the other, and with them being who they were it escalated quickly, because even if Thassarian did get off on Koltira beating him and making him his bitch afterwards he only liked it after fights when he made sure Koltira earned it – and when his lover didn’t, Thassarian had found he also liked to return the favor, much to his own surprise.

So when he saw the opportunity to disarm Koltira by locking Byfrost with his runeblades, yanking it off the elf’s grip and hurling it away, he took it.

Koltira huffed, and raised his hands in defeat, only to be pushed face-first against the nearest wall.

“I win,” Thassarian breathed, hands greedily mapping Koltira’s body as he pushed his body against the elf.

Koltira had to agree that it was so. Besides, it was rare to get Thassarian worked up enough to want to top - which he did quite well for someone so naturally submissive - so he showed his agreement quite enthusiastically by rubbing his ass against him.

Thassarian growled, and after some fumbling Koltira felt him pushing down his leather breeches with one hand, while raising his hair with the other to gain access to his neck.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, half-panicked but equally aroused.

“Shut up,” Thassarian ordered, shoving two balm-coated fingers into him.

“Someone might see!” he breathed, and grunted when the human entered him roughly.

“I said shut up,” Thassarian whispered gently, covering Koltira’s mouth with one hand and kissing his nape. “Just feel,” he pleaded, holding his lover against him as they coupled feverishly.

All that Bolvar watched, first in mild curiosity, then in complete confusion, for he didn’t recognize the fighting style. Koltira had obviously lost the spar; there was no reason to…

‘ _They’re fucking, idiot human_ ,’ the Helm said.

‘ _What? No they’re not, you need a woman to do that, don’t be ridiculous_ ,’ Bolvar replied, and the Helm gave him a very explicit vision.

‘ _By the Light, people do that?_ ’                                             

‘ _Blood and thunder, what is this guy, a virgin?_ ’ Ner’zhul’s shade asked.

‘ _Yeah_ ,’ Arthas’ shade answered, laughing. ‘ _If he weren’t he’d know you do that with women too. Oh, Jaina had a sweet ass, I’ll tell you that._ ’

‘ _SHUT UP!_ ’ Bolvar mentally shrieked, horrified and heavily discomfited, what with his cock having been fused to his scrotum by Alexstrasza’s fire. ‘ _I shall talk to Darion about this, they’re… they’re defiling the sanctity of my lair!’_

The ghosts inside the Helm and even its own voice laughed at him all the way back to the Frozen Throne. 

* * *

  

“Anybody home? Naz? Peggy? Uuna?”

A loud shriek sounded, and the Deathlord was run over, finding himself on the ground with a lapful of happy little Draenei ghost and assorted unliving animals, from a dog – Scraps, who he had found cowering in the Broken Shore – to Mr. Bigglesworth, who Uuna had discovered pitifully meowing next to Kel’thuzad’s phylactery and its own starved corpse, plus all of Voragosa’s babies, the little red and the other undead whelps they had collected around Northrend.

Uuna grabbed him by the cheeks and gave him a serious look.

“Did you bring me a present?” she asked, all business.

He rolled his eyes, but nodded, and pointed to his satchel. She eagerly opened it, and squealed when a tiny abomination jumped out.

“His name is Blightbreath. Take good care of him, please?” he asked, and she nodded enthusiastically, hugging the ugly little thing to her chest and giving him a ghostly kiss before running away with her menagerie at her heels.

“You are spoiling her rotten,” Nazgrim said as he approached, hefting a large box and waving an accusatory finger, and the elf laid back on the floor.

“I don’t think she can be spoiled, poor little thing. Has she been giving you lip?”

“No, not really. She helps a lot with the kiddie ghostlings, and the feral undead. But sometimes the racket is so loud it seems someone will hear all the way up in Icecrown.”

“How about you and Peggy? Not too overwhelmed with the work, I hope?”

Nazgrim supported the box on his hip, and tilted his head.

“What is it you’re not telling me?”

The Deathlord sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

“Things are moving, my friend. Magni Bronzebeard sent me a missive last week, and I went to meet him on my way here, which is why I only arrived today. He says Azeroth knows that war is brewing in the horizon, and she’s angry at us, and terrified because of what Sargeras did.”

Nazgrim nodded, and the elf sighed.

“He also said that if we allow war to break between the factions Azeroth might decide to wipe us all to stop us from hurting her more, even if it means she awakens before she’s fully formed.”

Nazgrim’s eyes widened, and he let out a slow whistle.

“So we’re pretty much screwed on both ends, is that what you’re saying?”

Exu sat up, supporting himself on his arms.

“Yes. Magni is crazy worried, he said that Anduin doesn’t understand that Azeroth doesn’t think like a person, that she can’t be reasoned with. She’s always been more instinct than thought, and after Sargeras wounded her, her self is becoming even more primal, more irrational. That makes her more vulnerable to the Old Gods, too.”

“And if he can’t reason with Anduin, we can just imagine how talking to Sylvanas went,” Nazgrim agreed. “Thrall’s balls, what else can we do except what we’ve already been doing?”

The Deathlord’s head whipped towards him.

“Have I told you you’re a genius? You’re a fucking genius,” he said, grinning.

* * *

 

“They _destroyed our home_!” Tyrande screamed, and Malfurion had to hold her back before she advanced on Anduin.  “I demand retaliation on Orgrimmar!”

“We cannot blame the entire Horde on the actions of its Warchief, don’t you remember Pandaria?” Anduin retorted angrily.

“Orgrimmar is their hardiest stronghold, as well. They will be prepared for retaliation, no doubt,” added Wrathion in a pensive tone.

“My king,” An obsequious Genn Greymane said, “I entirely agree that it is folly to attack Orgrimmar. However... we might have a much easier, less defended and even... better suited city to use as a retaliation point much closer to us. After all... the rightful queen of Lordaeron is your... guest.”

Everyone turned to look at the woman in question, who was quiet beside Velen.

Wrathion opened a huge grin.

“Yes, she is, isn’t she? We have to help her retake her land. Besides, there are really no one alive there, so no harm done and we cull Sylvanas’ unholy forces,” he said, moving around the table towards her. “There would only be the matter of ensuing continuity of the Menethil lineage to solidify the claim. Of course...”

Genn straightened up, ready to speak.

“That has already been dealt with, hasn’t it my king?” Wrathion finished with a flourish, and Anduin stood, flustered.

Genn smiled like a child on Winter Veil, and stood as well. How nice of Wrathion to suggest it! His mind already soared with the idea of unificating Lordaeron and Gilneas under the same banner; no doubt Mia would agree to a quiet and quick divorce, and then -

“Yes, uh. Her Highness Calia Menethil, queen of Lordaeron, has honored Stormwind with accepting my marriage proposal,” Anduin said quickly. “I too need a successor, and we have found each other to be quite... compatible, despite our age difference,” he completed, sitting back down. “Isn’t it, dear Calia?”

Genn’s brain halted mid-dreaming. Wait, what was Anduin... Anduin and Calia... he looked around and realized he was still standing, and sat down hard on his seat, jaw gaping.

“Yes, my king,” Calia looked at him demurely. “For what it is worth you have my permission to rid my kingdom of the undead. It would have to be done sooner or later, anyways, and I agree with King Greymane and Lord Wrathion, it is a fortunate site for retribution. Many lives will be spared in its attack,” she  said, hating herself to the marrow of her bones.

She tapped the side of her skirt under the table, and a few moments later a cockroach reached the open window and flew away. Calia followed it with her eyes for a moment, while the others planned the attack.

* * *

 

“Rhonin...” Vereesa breathed, and extended her arms to him.

When it happened, she had first registered the sensation of the arrows penetrating her back, and had looked, horrified, at her sister’s smile while her legs gave out and she fell in slow motion. Pain had then settled in, and regret, and fear for her boys, but it had all quickly faded in the cold.

So much cold... and then sounds disappeared, darkness took her in, and a whooshing feeling, as if she was being sucked out of her own body. Such deep, deep darkness, and such quiet, it terrified her to no end. She felt so, so alone. Her only hope was Rhonin, and she cried out for him with all her heart, all her love.

There! A tiny, tiny pinpoint of light! She ran to it, sobbing but determined, and when she reached the light there he was, his arms outstretched to catch her. She knew it! She knew he was there for her!

Her fingers twitched. Just a little bit more and she’d be with him, they’d be together, forever in the Light...

Rhonin’s smile changed to a shocked expression, and he screamed in outrage. Vereesa blinked, confused, and then she felt it, claws digging on her shoulders, her hips, her neck, pulling her back.

“No! No! Let me go! Rhonin!”

“Vereesa! Reach to me! Don’t let her take you back!” Rhonin shouted, and stretched his arms to her with all his strength.

They touched, briefly, and the claws yanked her back.

“Nooooooooooooo!”

She was ripped back through the darkness, the pain maddening, the fear, and above all the rage wracking her spirit. How _dare_ she?

Sylvanas held her sister’s shaking hands,a feeling akin to joy bursting in her heart.

“Come, little sister. Yes, come back to me, and rule by my side!” she cried out as Vereesa’s eyes opened.

Vereesa howled and tried to attack her, but strong bindings held her in place.

“Shush, little sister, shush... it will be fine, you’ll see. It’s only shock,” she said, and Vereesa spat on her face.

“You monster! How dare you do this to me and call me sister?” she growled, rage burning inside her soul.

Sylvanas’ eyes went cold.

“I was afraid you’d say that, little sister. I have the means to force you, and they are not... pleasant. You need time to think. To reconsider,” she said, and left.

“I will never serve you!” Vereesa screamed, and began fighting against her constraints again.

Nathanos watched for a few moments, before lowering his gaze and following his Dark Lady out of the cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added a line dealing with the fact Genn is married ingame. Everything stays the same tho.


	5. Sometimes having an entire continent hidden for years is quite fortuitous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok guys I don't know if you have been up to date with the datamined texts and quests and stuff from the BfA Alpha but I am, and considering they've been quite in tune with what I'm writing I'm letting a few of them into this story. 
> 
> Not saying what is what though. But yes there are some actual spoilers mixed in.

“If Stormwind won’t help retaliate, then _I_ will,” Malfurion told Tyrande, wiping her angry tears. “From now on, the Cenarion Circle joins the Alliance,” he added, turning to the night elf druids assembled at the Exodar. “Any druid belonging to the Horde races must forsake their allegiance to it, or be expelled!”

No one noticed one of the archdruids shadowmeld into the darkness.

Much later, in Hamuul Runetotem’s tent in Thunderbluff, the sleeping druid felt his hooves tickled.

“Arch- Archdruid?” he greeted in a whisper, and took to his flight form to follow the night elf out of the Tauren capital.

“Hamuul, Malfurion has taken a side. We need you to gather the Horde druids, Moonglade is no longer safe for them,” the night elf said without preamble. “No amount of pleading was heeded.”

Hamuul’s face fell. “I was afraid this would happen, Archdruid. But I understand. The Horde’s action against your people had no honor; it was an attack not against the night elves, but against the Mother Earth herself. I will comply at once. Thank you… for warning us,” he said, ears down, before he cast the spell to take him to Moonglade.

The night elf stood there for a moment, praying that the extraction happened without casualties. 

* * *

 

 

The Horde Embassy was filled to the brim with racial leaders, their generals and retinue present for the meeting.

“The Alliance believes we’re responsible for the burning of Teldrassil,” Saurfang said in a bleak tone. “Our advance in Lor’danel was an unfortunate coincidence, indeed.”

“There’s no way they’ll ever believe we had nothing to do with it,” Baine said, shaking his head. “Malfurion Stormrage has his druid forces moving towards us from Mount Hyjal. Thunderbluff has been evacuated and is now ready for a siege, Warchief. We can help evacuating Kezan, if,”

“Wait, what? You think they’ll attack my city?” Gallywix nearly screeched. “Why _my_ city? I didn’t do anything, this ain’t _my_ problem! Warchief, _do_ something!”

“Intercept the druids, both of you. They will certainly move through Wintergrasp to reach Orgrimmar. Make use of the goblin smuggler routes – and yes Trade Prince, I know they exist,” Sylvanas ordered, irritated. “Make sure you finish them to the last one, we cannot waste time. The remainder of the Alliance will surely hit Lordaeron soon. Rokhan, Saurfang, send the forces to aid them. Nathanos, get Lor’themar to move his forces to Lordaeron. Stormwind will surely attack there.”

“How about the troops? What are we going to tell them?” Baine asked, concerned.

“That the Horde does as the Horde must;” Sylvanas said coldly. “We did attack the Night Elves, and the destruction of Teldrassil eventually will serve to our advantage, so we won’t dispute authorship of it.”

* * *

 

 

If Hundred still had eyelids, he’d have narrowed them at the cocky Nightborne rogue. Alas, all he could do to show how unimpressed he was was let his nostrils flare.

“Yes, Deathlord,” the rogue said, giving a lazy salute, before turning on his heel and moving away with an entirely unnecessary sway of his poor excuse for hips. It didn’t help that the damned Death Knight gave said _non-existent_ ass a considering look, either.

“Time to work on the goblins and on Hillsbrad already, we need someone on Lor’themar still, and someone get on Jaina Proudmoore, if possible; I hear she’s going back to Stormwind,” Exu said pensively, and the Slayer grunted.

The Deathlord tilted his head and gave him a dawning look.

“Are you _jealous_?” he asked, dodging the inevitable punch in the face and giving the demon hunter a shit-eating grin.

“Shut up.”

“You’re _jealous_! Of _me_!”

“No I’m not.”

“Are too, and I’m flattered.”

“I will fel beam you where you stand.”

“I guess I _am_ an attractive corpse then.”

“Corpses don’t talk nonsense.”

“Though you _are_ technically blind...”

“I’m blind, not deaf. Shut your mouth before I plug it.”

“Mmm, promise?”

Darion cleared his throat as loudly as he could, thanking the Light for his helmet, which he was wearing for this meeting.

If he had known his afterlife was going to be like this, he mused, he’d never have killed himself trying to save his father. Some things were just too embarrassing to endure, even more than the skull inside a heart themed cupcakes Aimee sent for him at the Acherus for the Love is in the Air holiday last year; and that reminded him of the Lich King’s message concerning _another_ bothersome couple’s affair, which he had completely forgotten about, what with all the work.

At least the cupcakes were tasty. 

Darion let out a suffering sigh before excusing himself.

* * *

 

 

Thassarian and Koltira were waiting for him in his office, looking very apprehensive.

He entered, shut the door behind him, and moved in silence to sit behind his desk, trying to convey as much danger as possible through his body language.

The death knights huddled closer together.

_Good._

He left the helm on for maximum impact, and steepled his fingers.

Thassarian held his hands together in front of his crotch in a subtly defensive position, and Koltira gave his best wax statue impression.

“Do you know why I summoned you?” Darion asked, and the death knights shook their heads in tandem.

“The Lich King caught you having sex,” he said, and they ogled at him.

“How? We make sure to keep him unable to see through our minds when we are, er…” Thassarian asked, confused.

“He saw you with his own eyes, as you had a tryst during a spar in the Citadel,” Darion explained, quite guiltily pleased with the mortified expression on their faces.

“Oh, Light,” Thassarian mumbled, and gave Koltira a sheepish side-look.

Koltira closed his eyes, huffed, and then elbowed Thassarian strong enough to dent his armor.

“I _told you_ he was gonna catch us, but would you listen? Would you? _Now look what you did_!” he growled.

Darion slapped the table, and both of them jumped.

“Enough. How am I supposed to explain this sort of behavior to Bolvar? The man is insane as it is!”

“Please don’t tell the Deathlord,” Thassarian asked in a very small voice, huddling behind his helmet.

“Yes, _please_ don’t tell the Deathlord,” Koltira chimed in, his eyes wide. “You’ve heard what he does to that demon hunter, and he does it _in a good mood_. If you tell him only Shadows know what he’ll shove inside us.”

Darion’s eyes narrowed. “Hmmmm. I got an idea. It’s a one in a million chance, but it might just work.”

* * *

 

 

The problem with being someone with considerable military power but no known political status was that whatever tyrant you find yourself currently under thinks you’re happy working for them.

Hence, there went Lorin the Hundredeyed, Slayer of the Illidari and Illidan’s right hand, now bereft of his leader, his family-in-arms and pretty much everything but his Sin’dorei status, which was grudgingly reinstated by the Quel’thalas government to the demon hunters at, allegedly, Sylvanas’ orders (which had forced Tyrande to do the same to the Night Elf demon hunters), to go answer the Banshee Queen’s summon at the Orgrimmar Embassy.

His death knight partner in crime, of course, had been spared the “honor,” due to the rumors that he had fallen in disgrace with the Lich King and thus kicked out of the Ebon Blade, and was now running for his life somewhere. Apparently, even Sylvanas Windrunner didn’t want to mess with Bolvar Fordragon nowadays.

Hundred thought Exu was a lucky crafty sonofabitch for having the wrath of the Lich King as a handy excuse to stay in the shadows, like the rogue he had been in life.

“My champion,” Sylvanas greeted, and he nodded curtly. Warchief or no Warchief he would be dead before he was caught treating anyone but Illidan as his superior. “Azerite is the key to winning this war. To control that resource we needed to take the war to the Kal’dorei…”

He kept his face carefully blank during her explanation of the events at Nordrassil, and received his orders in silence, giving her another curt nod when she dismissed him.

As he left the Embassy, his ear twitched, and he lingered by the side of the building.

“I still don’t know why you allowed the Demon Hunters in the Horde. They’re a shifty lot,” Gallywix said in what he thought was a low tone of voice.

“It pleased Lor’themar to do it,” Sylvanas replied. “They are blood elves who served for the glory of Quel’thalas, when it is all said and done, he said. And if we hadn’t conscripted them, the Alliance would’ve gotten them all. We could not have that.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s much like the death knights and the Pandaren, though. Every time I look at one of them I wonder what they talk about with their kin in the Alliance. Don’t trust none,” Gallywix said.

“It’s of no consequence. With the Azerite weapon you’ve made me and the plague we have stored in Lordaeron, soon all of them will serve me.”

* * *

 

 

“Sylvanas already has an Azerite weapon? Fucking Gallywix! Do we have an estimate about the amount of Azerite the Horde has stocked?”

“About fifty tons, give or take, Highlord. How about the Alliance?”

Marcus sighed, and shut his eyes in concentration.

“Not nearly as much, and no weapon to use it yet, but Turalyon has put the Vindicaar’s weapons at Anduin’s disposal, and Genn is drooling over the idea of using it to blast the Undercity… for starters, if I recall his words correctly,” he replied, worry creasing his handsome features. “Weren’t you demon hunters supposed to burn the Azerite we can’t absorb with these?” he asked, pointing at his necklace as he thrust in.

“We are,” Jace Darkweaver said, “but the damn thing keeps surfacing back,” he explained in a breathless voice, between moans.

The paladin slipped his hand between them, and the demon hunter mewled.

“Tell the others there’s been some weird movement about Stormwind, too. Looks like they caught some big fish somewhere, the Stockades guard has been doubled.”

After the demon hunter left, Marcus moved to the window of his room at the Goldshire inn.

It was the best place for him to trade information with his fellow conspirators; nobody blinked an eye to who he brought into his room since everyone in Goldshire knew of his proclivities, and the innkeeper had been considerate enough to even soundproof it.

Of course, that meant that his sources had to spend enough time with him to make it seem they were doing more than talking, but he had found it wasn’t hard to convince them to actually do more anyway: the stress of war made people seek relief, and sex released tension like few other activities.

His sources in Stormwind were also eager to get into his pants, and he wasn’t the least offended by that, for it provided him with the perfect cover – he was supposedly so busy fucking every sentient being in Elwynn Forest that it was obvious he couldn’t possibly do anything else. Even Anduin’s messengers had stopped trying to send him on missions for the king, due to tending to forget what they were sent for after receiving his attentions, and the fame of being a lazy, sex-starved idiot served Marcus just fine, he thought, as he finished tying the message with his latest idea to a rat’s leg and released it.

* * *

 

Of all the Alliance races, the one everyone pointed as being the most faithful to the humans was the gnomes.

Not even the Worgen, who were technically still human, bent at the knee as easily as they. The gnomes withstood everything: hunger, displacement, poverty, prejudice, bullying and neglect (as could be seen from the wreckage of Gnomeregan, still not habitable years after its liberation) from all races, with a smile on their ever-optimistic faces, always industrious, always smart and quick to help.

That’s why nobody looked twice at the young gnomish girl carrying a bucket of tools around the Vindicaar, much less Turalyon, who had assumed command of the vessel upon its return to Azeroth.

She waved at Siegemaster Romuul, who smiled and waved her away as she passed to the hold where the Warframes were stored, whistling a popular tune.

Stealing the little tubes that kept the Light circulating from the matrix to the controls of the machines was a piece of cake.

The Light’s Judgment weapon, on the other hand, was a lot more complicated, and she nearly broke it for real before finding just the perfect little piece nobody would notice missing, but that would make aiming it impossible.

Before leaving the ship she had a drink with T’paartos, and laughed at his stories.

* * *

 

 

“Can we trust this information?” Faranell asked, frowning. “I mean… you know.”

The demon hunter laughed loudly. “Trust me, I do. But yes, we can trust Marcus.”

They were at Tyr’s Hand, along with a few other who also had been gifted with the Heart of Azeroth devices.

It was the biggest of the former Order Leaders’ secrets: a piece of Azeroth herself, that absorbed Azerite into itself whenever it was near a seam.

If the Alliance or the Horde leaders got wind of it, they’d execute them on the spot for “taking” the Azerite from them.

Which was exactly the idea, as Magni had explained, and another link to the bond these champions shared.

The Slayer had looked suspiciously at the cold water, and grimaced at the idea of swimming, of all things, but had done his duty like the others, and was now sitting at a log in the makeshift camp the Council had put up to assist the heroes with their work, drying himself off.

“Very well,” Faranell replied. “I am afraid we will have to keep a subdued, but not entirely inert, version of the plague inside the gates. If Sylvanas decides to use it against the Alliance and it doesn’t work at all, she will suspect even more that she does now.”

“Needs do as needs must,” Faol said, from where he finished pulling on his robes. Calia Menethil was the proper owner of the Heart of Azeroth device tied to his neck, but for obvious reasons had had to relinquish the item before moving to Stormwind.

“We’ll give word for them to prepare. Have you chosen who will stay behind as sacrifice?”

Faranell flinched, but Faol kept serene despite the demon hunter’s bluntness, a trait of them all – Illidan had never been one to use euphemisms, and his disciples were just as sharp of tongue as him.

“Yes. We are ready.”

* * *

 

 

“I was waiting for your visit, Highlord.”

“Yes, sir. I have,” Darion coughed discreetly, “Investigated the matter you called me about. Apparently, the death knights in question picked up a cruel custom of the… the hozen, an evil, bloodthirsty race of Pandaria,” he said. “They have the custom of violating the bodies of the loser in their duels, in the few occasions they are not permitted to eviscerate them. It is a form of torture and humiliation, sir. I believe the pair in question use it as a way to quench the bloodlust brought upon by battle without, er, causing injuries that would need to be repaired by our necrosurgeons.”

Bolvar hummed, fingers tapping the arm of the Frozen Throne. It did make sense, in a way. Obviously the death knights sent to serve him had to keep sharp; for that, they had to train. They also had to deal with their addiction for inflicting pain upon others, which would logically become sharper with the duels, and the lack of prey – Bolvar had decided to halt the killing of undead, since they might be useful to him… and to Azeroth, of course – so using rape as a way to express their sadism really was a practical way to see things.

“So there is nothing _emotional_ about it?” he asked, still dubious.

Darion gave him an uncomprehending look.

“Emotional, sir? How? Death Knights have no emotions. We are empty inside… as you are aware.”

Bolvar hummed again. “Very well, then. You may return to the Acherus. Tell them to take their matters to the training grounds outside, though. The noise they make is bothersome.”

Darion bowed and summoned a Death Gate, crossing it quickly.

He huffed a laugh as he stepped back home, and stamped the frost from his boots, wondering what exactly he was going to demand as recompense for staying deadpan while imagining the poor, primitive but fairly innocent hozen’s faces learning of what he had said about them.

Maybe he should consult with the Deathlord, Exu was much better at extortion than he ever tried to be.

It _was_ near the time for the Love festival again, anyway.


	6. A very, VERY late Love is in the Air special

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know we just got by the Lunar Festival ingame, but hey, in this story we're on time. And since this idea came to me in a discussion on the GD WoW forums (I made a thread asking for bulges for male toons because come on, Orcs have it, why can't anybody else?) having this happen was sort of inevitable. Have fun!
> 
> Edit: by the way Aimee's apartment does exist ingame. And if you haven't heard Korgaz's "Whaaaaaaat?" yet, you have to, lol. He's at the Acherus and is the Death Knight Initiate recruiter.

Life as a mercenary death knight at the service of whoever was hard, so nobody at the Acherus even blinked when a Death Gate opened and a bloodied note flew out of it with “HELP!” written on it.

If you REALLY needed help, you’d drag your enemy through it so everybody could partake in the fun, was the Ebon Blade frame of mind.

So when it was Darion’s time to need actual help, nobody even paid any attention to his desperate notes, badly scrawled with lipstick on white panties. Even Janitor Edwards just gave them a sad stare and shook his head before throwing them away, mumbling about the lack of dignity of Death Knights these days.

It took three days, what with the holiday, for Darion’s disappearance to start worrying people, and another two until they decided to do anything about it; and that because Archmage Modera rained her righteous wrath upon the Ebon Blade.

“I demand you people remove your Commander from my city right now!” she yelled as soon as she landed.

“Excuse-us?” Thalanor asked, unimpressed.

“Your commander’s continued presence is hindering the proper flow of commerce in Dalaran, especially the flow of baked goods and confectionery items,” she explained haughtily. “Due to our accelerated metabolism we mages need a larger amount of carbohydrates in our diets, and Aimee’s absence from the market hinders the distribution of those goods. Now **fix it**!”

By the end of her tantrum half the Acherus had come to watch – entertainment being rare these days – and Siouxsie nearly applauded it, but held herself in check as she approached.

“I’m sorry Archmage, but what does Highlord Darion’s,” she started, but Lord Thorval whispered in her ear, after which her eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Ooooh. Ok,” she said. “Um, I’ll be going there with you, then,” she informed the Archmage, who nodded gruffly and took the portal to Dalaran – which had remained after the Legion war due to its practicality.

Siouxsie thought it best not to ask why she had flown all the way to the Acherus (which was now back in its old location) instead of just taking the portal to come. Must be the lack of blood sugar, she thought as she followed.

* * *

 

Aimee lived in a quaint apartment over First to Your Aid, close to her cart, not the quietest neighborhood, what with being in the Magus Commerce Exchange, but the rent was cheap, the building was always kept scrupulously clean and the concrete slab that separated the floors kept most of the noise away.

There was a queue of gnomes carrying trays of baked goods, all complaining to the haggard-looking Kirin Tor Guardian stationed at the door, who slumped in relief as they came into view.

“Archmage! Archmage! What will you do about this? We need to push our products!” one of the gnomes complained, followed by various assenting grunts and exclamations.

A round window opened at the third floor, and Aimee’s head popped out, her hair a mess, and only a sheet to cover her nudity.

“People deserve to take a holiday or two! Now scram!” she yelled.

“Miss Aimee, er, have you seen Highlord Mograine?” Siouxsie yelled, and the pastry seller widened her eyes at her, yelled a hasty negative, and slammed the window closed.

Siouxsie shrugged.

“Oh well, guess he’s not there then,” she said, but was frozen in place before she could finish casting her Death Gate.

“Don’t you even try, missy. We have proof your boss is up there!” Modera said, and handed her a piece of cloth that, unfolded, turned up to be a white stocking with a message written on it in plum-colored lipstick.

‘IF FOUND PLEASE SEND TO THE ACHERUS. TO EBON BLADE: GET ME OUT! SIGNED, DARION MOGRAINE. P.S: SOMEONE TELL THAT IDIOT EDWARDS TO STOP THROWING MESSAGES FOR HELP AWAY, I CHANGED MY MIND!’

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Now get in there and drag your Commander out of my city!”

Siouxsie pursed her lips.

“Um, well, you see Archmage, er… I can’t,” she said, and raised a hand to stop Modera from scorching her on the spot. “You see, the Highlord is our strongest and best Death Knight, if he’s being held hostage, then whoever is holding him up there must have some really, really strong weapon against undead,” she explained. “So… uhhhh… I’ll go back to the Acherus and assemble the other Horsemen for the rescue.”

She cast a Death Gate and jumped through it before Modera thought to freeze her again.

* * *

 

At the Acherus, she quickly took the transporter and the stairs to the third floor, where she ran to Sally Whitemane’s door and started pounding.

“Whaaaaaat?” she heard a male voice yell, and after a minute the door opened.

“I hope you have a _very_ good reason, girl,” Whitemane said as she fixed her robe, Korgaz Deadaxe’s annoyed grunt coming from the bed completing the picture of exasperation.

“Well…”

Thassarian and Koltira were currently hacking away at the ice in the Icecrown Citadel to open the way to one of the bathrooms when a Death Gate opened behind them, and they were unceremoniously pulled in.

They ended up at the Plague Quarter in Naxxramas, where Nazgrim and Whitemane briefed them on the issue.

After a quick but very loud discussion they all held each other’s arms and Nazgrim activated a hearthstone with ‘EMERGENCIES ONLY’ written across in red ink.

* * *

 

 

Sometimes even in the middle of scheming and warring heroes need some R&R, and one of the places many of them preferred to do that was the Valley of the Four Winds, in Pandaria, where the land wasn’t terribly expensive, the food was good and plentiful, and most importantly was located so far away from the rest of the world and its problems you could almost think there really existed something like peace.

It was in a tiny farm shack, lulled by the sound of Dog chasing the wyrmin away from the garden, that the former Slayer and Deathlord slept curled up together on a bed that was a bit too short for them, almost as narrow, but was soft, clean and had pillows, something everyone who has ever gone to war wouldn’t ever sneeze at.

It was also in that shack that the Three Official Horsemen and the Unofficial Fifth, plus Siouxsie the Banshee, popped up.

They tiptoed out of the shack as quietly as they could, because even though waking the elves by throwing a bucketful of water on them would be terribly funny, it wasn’t worth being vaporized by a Fel Beam.

Since outside had a lot more space to run, however, the first thing Nazgrim did was pick up a monster of a cabbage that was sitting on a wheelbarrow and throw it into the shack through the window.

“Wake up, gezz’no! No rest for the wicked!” he shouted as he threw it, and soon they heard startled, angry cursing coming from inside, a sure prompt for them to duck.

The cabbage flew out of the window, in flames, and Exu appeared right after, tugging a shirt on.

“This better be an emergency,” he grunted, and tugged a pair of boxer briefs on, before looking back inside, shrugging, and calling them in.

The place was tiny but it was reasonably well-kept, with a tiny stove, a table and a couple of chairs, and some food stored in shelves. The Deathlord grabbed a coffee pot, while the Slayer burned the fire on the stove to life.

“So? Let the man have some fun, damn it. Unlife is hard as it is,” he said after they explained the issue, and Siouxsie threw the stocking at him.

He read it, and gave them a sheepish look. “Ooh, ok. Yeah I might have forgotten to talk about the side effects…”

“Side effects? To what?” Thassarian asked, and Koltira put his face in his hands, mumbling.

“I _knew_ you had something to do with it,” Nazgrim said with satisfaction, nodding. “Didn’t I tell y’all he had something to do with it? Thrall’s balls, it’s just like that thing with the Tauren innkeeper again.”

Whitemane crossed her arms and gave the elf her best “Angry Schoolmaster” look. “Explain.”

Exu whined, and Hundred kicked his shin from where he sat on the bed. “You wanna tell them or should I?” he asked, and the Deathlord gave them a suffering glance, before swatting his lover’s foot away and sitting on the bed between his legs.

“Ok, so Darion was talking about how much he loves Aimee and that after all this time dating they had decided since he can’t get her pregnant there was no reason not to take the next step,” he said. “And then Darion had been reading some books on female anatomy in Amal’thazad’s library, so he got confused, and then due to my, er, experience on the matter and the fact he wasn’t gonna ask nobody who works under him or anyone alive, for that matter, he asked me to explain some of what was in the books to him, and between a bottle of beer and another I mentioned that women could have multiple orgasms, and Darion panicked, and _eeeeehhh_...”

“You told him about that thing with the tauren innkeeper, didn’t you? Gezz’no!” Nazgrim growled, and rubbed his face with a hand.

“Well, yeah, what good is it to go through that if you can’t tell anybody?” he said, and the Slayer knuckled the side of his head. “Ow. Well, the thing is, Darion got scared he couldn’t keep up with Aimee if she did eventually have more than one orgasm, so I told him to just keep his cock hard until she was satisfied, is all.”

Thassarian frowned in confusion. “But how? I mean, sorry ladies, but male anatomy has its rules and”

“ _Living_ male anatomy, yes, but we’re not alive,” Exu interrupted. “We’re undead, and we’re Death Knights, we can control our bodies with magic. So I told him to just clot the blood in place once he got hard, and let it liquefy again when she didn’t want to use it anymore.”

The Death Knights tilted their heads in unison, and stayed quiet for a long minute, just staring at their Deathlord and at the smug Slayer behind him.

And then Koltira punched Thassarian without even looking at him.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“So you know what will happen if you even _think_ about it.”

* * *

 

 

In the end, extracting the Highlord from his girlfriend’s loving clutches was as easy as having a rogue – an ex-rogue, as it was, because not even Exu was irresponsible enough to get an outsider to do such a _sensitive_ job – use a blowdart to shoot an anticoagulant into his, er, predicament during one of Aimee’s bathroom breaks.

“Owf! Whf thff fmph!” Darion cried out through his gag, and his eyebrows went up as he saw the elf motion for him to be quiet. He nodded, and soon enough his cock deflated, making him roll his eyes up in relief.

“Ready to go aga- aaaaaaaaaw…”

“Fwomphy homphhy…”

Aimee sighed. “That’s all right, darling. Well, at least we know now we can get away with it for a week, so we can start planning for Winter Veil!”

* * *

 

“Wait a minute,” Sally interrupted. “If you knew all you needed to do was let your blood liquefy again, why didn’t you do that yourself when you saw she wasn’t going to stop? I mean…”

Darion gave her an affronted look. “I… I couldn’t do that to her, she was having so much fun! I mean, it took over a year for us to get there, and…”

“Male pride, Whitemane. The bane of our existence,” Trollbane agreed.

“Could’ve been worse, the Tauren innkeeper thing lasted a month,” Nazgrim commented.

“So are you done with him then?” the Slayer asked, and as the Death Knights assented, adjusted the tied-up, gagged and squirming bundle on his shoulder and triggered the hearthstone in his left hand.

“I wonder…”

“Don’t even, Thassarian.”


	7. Your love will be my Fortress

Eitrigg saw the spirit wolf running by through the window, and pulled a dog biscuit out of a pocket before letting out a loud whistle.

The shaman turned at him and closed her canine expression, before pulling her tail between her legs and approaching, drool forming in her mouth. He opened the door for her, and offered the doggy treat.

She looked warily around, before eating the biscuit in a couple of hungry bites.

“I hate you,” she growled, turning back to her goblin form.

“But you love my biscuits,” Eitrigg said, chuckling.

“Yeah, yeah. What do you want?”

Eitrigg motioned her in, and she sat in one of the wooden stumps he used as chairs.

“I believe you love the Horde as I do. But unless we act, I fear it will not survive this war.  
A... mutual friend has suggested it is time we collect on an old debt. In so doing, we could add loyal soldiers to the Horde's ranks,” he said gravely. “Our Warchief will need convincing. For this, I need your help.”

“Hm. Did our… mutual friend perchance suggest we go collect our debt in Draenor?” she asked with a wicked smile.

He gave her a confused look. “Um, yes, Draenor. Why?”

“Oh, nothing. Shaman sense. Let’s go talk to the Warchief.”

* * *

 

It took exactly three days after Malfurion’s defeat at the hands of most of the Horde and one very absurdly strong Azerite-powered weapon for the Alliance to agree to use the Vindicaar to retaliate.

It took _another_ three days for Siegecrafter Romuul to declare the ship and its weapons useless to cause any damage, except by ramming into things. That idea was proposed by Genn Greymane, but turned out after Turalyon had a fit.

In the meantime, Calia Menethil was subtly arranging matters with the Void Elves to keep Alleria busy.

Magister Umbric was a master at manipulating people; already many of the Silver Covenant had expressed interest in the “Void arts,” he had told her in an inconspicuous note passed to her as he was introduced to Anduin and the Stormwind Court.

She was practically convinced to use the Void Elves in an attack at the Undercity.

Anduin was easier to deal with: Wrathion simply told him what to do, and he obeyed without question. The dragon was anxious to take the war to the Horde and, in his own words, “destroying it once and for all for the good of Azeroth;” he was also quite easily influenced by priestly mind-control spells, especially the subtle variations Calia had learned with Faol and the other Forsaken priests, who studied such arts of persuasion in depth so they could find ways to counter any future attempts by either the Lich King (who hadn’t tried yet) or Sylvanas (who had, but had failed) to take away their treasured free will.

They had been quite successful in many levels, but one big challenge remained, to break the link between the Lich King and the Ebon Blade.

There was a knock on the door, and Calia waved for her handmaid to answer it.

“My future queen,” Anduin said, entering with a bow. “I would be honored if you participated in the War Council meeting, as rightful ruler of Lordaeron, and as my bride.”

She smiled and sealed the letter she was writing, before handing it to her servant.

“Of course, my King,” she replied, taking his hand as they left towards the staircase. “I take it that matters are taken care of, then?”

“Yes, yes. We marry on the morrow. A simple ceremony, of course, due to the hard times we face, but I promise you,”

“No need, my King,” she said with a carefully happy voice. “The sight of our kingdoms free and united will be worth a million ceremonies.”

The ceremony was brief and simple, officiated in the Cathedral, under Anduin’s request, by Velen, who would sometimes give Calia a wondering look.

The good thing about Stormwind was that its royalty didn’t demand immediate and public proof of consummation; if it were Stromgarde instead, Calia – and even more possibly Anduin – would’ve folded under the pressure.

As it was, they had only a half-hour reception, only for those closest to Anduin, afterwards. And then they were alone, in the King’s chambers.

Anduin had played the adult well until this day, but as the door closed, his composure broke.

“Um… uh… er…” he mumbled, scratching his own nape in obvious embarrassment, averting his eyes from her.

Calia almost pitied him.

“Are you uncomfortable, my King?” she asked, and loosened her corset.

Anduin did appreciate the beauty of females in an aesthetic sense, but the only one he had actually been physically attracted to had been Aerin, who had been his bodyguard in Ironforge.

Wrathion hadn’t been surprised at that, for some reason.

Also, Calia was as old as Jaina. Not that she wasn’t beautiful in her own right; priests in general didn’t age quickly, and the beauty of the Menethils was legendary. Still.

“Uh.”

She approached, and he stepped backwards, until he hit the wall.

She rested her hand on the wall beside his head, and he swallowed.

“Why, King Anduin,” she said with a smirk, “are you shying from your duty?”

His lower lip wobbled, and she cracked up laughing.

“You are so mean, my queen,” Wrathion said, coming out of a darkened corner and making Anduin squeal in surprise. “I like that,” he amended, picking one of her hands and kissing it. “Don’t be afraid, lover. Your obligation will be fulfilled in a more… civilized manner,” he said to Anduin, showing a glass vial in his hand.

“Remember, the seed is best used fresh,” Calia said in a matter-of –fact tone. “I will be in my quarters.” She then curtsied to both of them, and left the room.

She held her composure until she reached her own and closed the door behind her, and then she breathed out her pain.

‘Alonsus my love,’ she thought, putting her hand to her heart and setting her face in righteous fury, ‘I promise you, I will give my life for our people… and I will give them a king. A king to unite the living and the dead, if I cannot do it myself.’

* * *

 

Unlike popular belief, it occasionally rained in Orgrimmar.

Today there was a storm, fitting for the enraged screeches coming out of the Warchief’s conference room.

“How DARE this woman call herself Queen of Lordaeron?! _I will personally rip her apart_!”

“Well, she is the heir to the throne, Warchief.”

Even Saurfang flinched with the look Sylvanas gave Gallywix.

“Calia Menethil is **_dead_** ,” Sylvanas spat. “This is an imposter, invented by the Alliance to confuse the Forsaken!”

“It’s not what the living of Lordaeron say,” Saurfang said pensively, reading the report. “Apparently, many still live who can recognize the princess, including Turalyon, who is sworn by the Light to say the truth.”

“You would believe the Alliance over your Warchief?” she spat back, and he gave her a calm look.

“It is a more solid claim into attacking the Undercity than just revenge for Darnassus, especially since the Undercity is all the way across the ocean,” Gallywix said with obvious relief. “Besides, if it is true, the Forsaken are her subjects, they must submit to her by law of the land.”

Baine nodded. “That is true. Anduin may have a claim to Lordaeron by marriage, but maybe…” his eyes widened. “Maybe that can lead to actual peace!”

Nathanos gave him a condescending look, but he raised a hand.

“No, no, hear me out. If Anduin and his queen understand the Forsaken as their legitimate subjects they might be convinced to seek a peaceful solution to the Night Elf issue. We could talk to them and maybe trade Lordaeron for…”

“There will be NO peaceful solution,” Sylvanas growled, before turning to Nathanos. “Send message to Stormwind. The Horde and the Forsaken do not recognize their claim over Lordaeron. Ready the troops, I wish to sail in a week at most!”

* * *

 

The next day…

Anduin put the letter over the table, and sighed.

“So it must be by force,” he stated. “We were lucky to reach a compromise with Moira and have her Dark Iron formally join the Alliance. Get the forces ready. We leave in three days.”

* * *

 

 

“Ok everybody, we have exactly one day! One day to finish evacuating Lordaeron!”

Naxxramas was again a hive of activity. Death Knights and Forsaken allied with the Desolate Council alike were busy getting the last two wings to be occupied ready; Uuna and the many, many little ghost children she had befriended all over Azeroth (children killed by the Legion, by the famine and sickness that had followed the demonic invasions, problems the factions hadn’t cared to tackle in their desire to kill one another, lost from their parents’ souls) arrived hourly with more and more undead refugees, who she and the other children had made a point to convince about the unfairness of Sylvanas’ decisions and the stupidity of the war against the Alliance.

The fact that a good number of the little shades were descendants of the Forsaken and the Ebon Blade Death Knights steeled the resolve of those undead who had volunteered to die in the inevitable invasion of Lordaeron to make the numbers necessary to evade suspicion.

“Can we be sure that Sylvanas won’t suspect of this place?” the officially former but unofficially very much still Netherlord of the Azeroth Warlocks asked.

Nazgrim gave him a half-smirk. “Would you come up here, so near the Lich King, just to make sure this old relic was empty?”

The undead laughed. “Well if you put it that way… it’s a shame to sacrifice so many of us, though,” they said.

“If we don’t, Sylvanas will pick up on our deceit. I count on you to replace me honorably,” Alonsus Faol said gravely.

The Netherlord nodded. “Don’t worry, old friend. Our queen will be forever proud of your sacrifice.”

Alonsus swallowed, lowering his head.

“Wait, you haven’t told her?”

The priest turned his head away.

“Alonsus, you must tell her.”

“I cannot. I… cannot break her heart like that.”

The warlock’s expression softened and he patted his shoulder companionably. “Would you rather I go in your place?”

Faol looked at him in horror. “No! Light, no. I’m much farther gone than you are. The rot will take me much earlier than you, the Council needs you. I must be the one to do this.”

“Then man up, and tell our Queen. She is strong, Alonsus.”

* * *

 

 

On Draenor, the influx of living refugees was also reaching a peak, with people arriving every day from Quel’thalas, Lordaeron, and all throughout Kalimdor, both civilian and military deserters.

At the beginning, both Yrel and Grom Hellscream had refused asylum for the latter; they changed their minds after a visit from Uuna and her small army of angels, as Yrel had taken to calling them.

Grom had been so moved by their plight, he had asked how to help more, and thus, with Thrall’s intervention through an unsuspecting Eitrigg, the Mag’har forces had joined the Azerothian Horde, to replace and conceal the amount of deserters.

Garrisons of Horde and Alliance heroes had been stripped of their faction colors and become waystations for the refugees, who in their majority were moved to occupy Nagrand, mostly emptied out by the war.

“I wanted to thank you again.”

Thrall chuckled. ‘There’s nothing to thank me for. In the end… this was my fault,” he replied, frowning at his ale.

“No, it was mine. If I weren’t so easily overtaken… if I were a better mage…”

“You’d have been killed in your mother’s womb and Sargeras would’ve used another child,” Marcus said, entering the Frostwall inn and shaking the snow off his cloak.

“If it wasn’t for _you_ ,” he said, pointing at Medivh, “we wouldn’t ever have had Thrall be born in Azeroth or Khadgar know enough to open the gates to this world. And if it weren’t for you, Thrall, we would at most be able to save a few hundred people, what we could fit inside this place. Now, _because_ of both of you, even if the factions destroy themselves and the world-soul in the process, enough of our people will survive to tell its tale. In the end, that is all that matters.”

“Yes,” said Aggra, coming in from the kitchen with a mug of strong tea in each hand. She handed one to the paladin, and scoffed at Thrall’s extended hand. “Go get your own, what do you think I am, your maid? I swear, males these days…” she rumbled, pushing his arms out of the way to sit on his lap.

“Now, I spoke with Yrel yesterday about the Shadowmoon refugees…”

* * *

 

 

Demon Hunters were a rarity, even more so with the Illidari torn apart by the factions. Still, no one bothered him as he entered the inn, for Ratchet was more than a city: like Booty Bay, it was a haven for those with shady business, and since both factions had no shortage of shady business, more often than not with each other, it was neutral, well-served with transportation, full of goblins and, of course, rogues.

For someone who had turned away from his past life, the Deathlord was _very_ predictable.

It was good, though, because Hundred’s large horns and shock of bright, fiery red hair betrayed his presence anywhere he went. Only he and Kayn had horns so much like Illidan’s, and oh how many times they envied Jace and his small, goat-like horns that could be hidden under a cowl.

He found the room at the end of a dark corridor, and turned the handle, expecting it to be unlocked; the demon smell was something else that made any attempt at stealth risible.

The elf was lying on the bed with his back to him, curled up into himself under the rough blanket.

The Slayer approached quietly, resting his warglaives alongside Thori’talah in a corner, unmindful of the small rattling sound it made. Varimathras had been afraid of him ever since the day he had been consumed and doubly so when he was raised back, anyway. He wondered fleetingly how the demon-turned-weapon would react to Sylvanas’ presence, though.

He finished undressing and quietly slipped under the covers, moving to embrace his lover, who whimpered, a tiny, soft sound of pain, before turning around in his arms.

Exu swallowed dry. “Sylvanas sent an ultimatum to the Acherus demanding either I or Koltira join the Horde forces tomorrow. Would… would you help me atone?” he asked in a small voice, his haunted eyes averted.

Hundred’s heart broke for him. He didn’t enjoy inflicting pain, but he understood. “Of course,” he said, and bent down to kiss him.

He kissed and licked and caressed his lover as lightly and delicately as he could, and when he penetrated him it was slowly, carefully, mindful of the scar of creation that ran through the Deathlord’s insides, the unholy tissue where the Endless Hunger wrecked his body all the more.

He hugged him close, singing endearments to him while moving, and his lover hung onto him tightly, face buried in his neck, trembling, cold sweats making his skin clammy to the touch.

“Should I stop?” Hundred asked softly, but Exu shook his head, hugging him tighter. Hundred held him closer, and pulled on his fel energy to give him as much heat as he could, unmindful of his own needs.

A few minutes of this, and then Exu came with a pained, sad wail. Hundred stayed still until his lover’s tremors faded, and pulled out very carefully before lying at his side and gathering him into his arms to give him the comfort he could, as the Deathlord rode the unholy pain into the night.

* * *

 

 

“Today we ride to take back what was rightfully ours! For the Alliance!”

Calia watched quietly as the army filled the boats. She had wanted to go, but Anduin had vehemently refused, citing her “possible condition” and the need to have someone answering for Stormwind while he and Greymane were away.

She couldn’t very much argue against the latter reason. Besides, Wrathion had stayed as well, and keeping an eye on the thrifty dragon was a necessity.

Still…

_“Dearest Calia,_

_For the plans to work some of us must stay behind as sacrifice; I have volunteered to be one of them._

_Words leave me in this moment and all I can say is I hope you can forgive me. Your love will be my fortress in the Shadowlands._

_May the Light shine upon you.”_

She swallowed back a tear, and took the dragon’s arm back to her carriage.


	8. Ok I need some feedback here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Need you guys to decide something with me please!

Ok guys, here's the thing. 

 

Last chapter was the last I could write without putting in spoilers for BfA. 

And I really wanted to take this story to Zandalar and Kul'Tiras, but I'm afraid even though this story is fundamentally different from canon, some things would necessarily overlap. 

What I want to know is:

 

Should I continue now or halt this story until August 14? Spoilers wouldn't be anything beyond what's already been datamined (I'm in the Beta but damn Wowhead knows more than me, lol). 

 

Please comment with what you think!


	9. Blood and Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the most serious chapter in this story so far. Please lemme know if you understand my gibberish. Oh and duh, here there be SPOILERS for BfA, except the good ideas are all mine, sadly.  
> And forgive-me for the Tommy Wiseau reference, it kinda came out on its own.

Many of the civilians who had offered their lives for the survival of the Forsaken were evacuated to Orgrimmar. Those of the Desolate Council that were found, though, were set apart by the Kor’kron, and taken to the dungeons, despite Saurfang’s protests.

Alonsus Faol was quiet as he was led down with the odd-dozen others to one of the cells, and as they were cramped into it he silently stared at the guards.

No one noticed the raven watching from the rafters.

* * *

 

 

Outside the ruins, the Horde was pushing against the Alliance line, and amidst the commotion Marcus was suddenly pulled in a death grip.

“ **Die, fien** – oh hi Exu,”

“Don’t you hi me. Is everything ready on your end?”

“Uh, yes, yes it’s all good, all going fine. Yours?”

“As far as we can tell. Remember, Anduin has to attack the Azerite machine, or people might question why it failed. Now go do your shit and don’t you fucking die before our job is done!”

Marcus was shoved back into the fray, and saluted before pulling back to his king.

* * *

 

 

The battle raged outside the city walls. Saurfang had retreated underground, unable to watch the Horde soldiers being killed and raised to fight again by their own Warchief.

His rambling steps took him to the Apothecaries, and the rage in his heart made him stomp his way to the dungeons, where the blight had been researched. There, he found an enormous blight bomb, the apparatus ready to destroy the whole city. Sylvanas’ intent was clear to him then.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. Destroy the equipment? See for himself if there was any more of the vile stuff waiting to be used? Kill any Apothecary left behind?

He turned into a corridor, and froze. At the back, unconscious Kor’kron were being dragged into a mage portal by a human. Saurfang pulled his weapon out and advanced with a roar.

The human squeaked, dropping the soldier’s legs and raising her hands.  “It’s not what you think I swear to Azeroth! Please don’t kill me!” she yelled, and covered her head with her arms the moment Saurfang raised his weapon for the kill.

He was frozen on the spot.

“I’m afraid I cannot let you do that,” he heard, and the familiar voice, heard last long ago, approached.

“Medivh?”

“You can finish taking that poor orc to safety, thank you,” another familiar voice said, and Saurfang tried to move his head in curious confusion. “Aren’t you that Archbishop? Faol? Have you turned against the Horde too?”

Faol and Medivh both moved in front of him, while the human finished passing through the portal.

“My friend the Archbishop was set into sacrificing himself so that this stupid war can be over, but I decided to intervene after seeing other Forsaken being evacuated. I believe it is unfair to be denied life only for political differences, you see,” the mage said, freeing Saurfang from his magical bonds.

Saurfang sighed. “Thank you. I… I have to serve the Horde, but I did not agree to this. Leave, now, though, before anyone comes by.”

“We know. You are honorable, Saurfang. Thank you.” Faol said, and followed Medivh into the portal.

Saurfang nodded, and, after the portal closed, made his way back to the fray.

As he reached the courtyard he saw the Horde forces retreating. “Follow me underground, champions!” Sylvanas said, before seeing him, and then stopped.

“So good of you to join us, Saurfang. Will you accompany us?”

“No, Warchief. I shall not retreat from honorable combat. That is the coward’s way.”

“Honor means nothing to a corpse, Saurfang. You have the luxury of underestimating death, but it is something with which I am intimately familiar.  
Maybe you don't care if your people die so long as it is honorable, but to me, this Horde is worth saving. Anyone who disagrees does not deserve to stand among us.  
So die your warrior's death, High Overlord Saurfang. It means little to me. Perhaps I will raise your broken body to serve me once more.  
Or perhaps you will have a chance to say hello to your son.”

He lowered his eyes as she moved aside. The few remaining champions and soldiers passed by him, many averting their eyes, others, mostly Forsaken, smug. Nathanos gave him a derisive look.

One person, though, stopped in front of him, and gave him the orcish salute.

“Lok’tar Ogar, Saurfang. You will never be forgotten,” the soldier in black plate said, and left.

Saurfang took a deep breath, and awaited his fate.

* * *

 

Days passed.

 

The banging noise at the Acherus was getting on the already frazzled nerves of the Ebon Blade, the Illidari and the other people gathered to plan their next move.

“Why, why, why, why, _why_ didn’t I see this shit would happen?” the Deathlord asked, hitting his head on the side of one of the bookcases in time with his words.

“All that work for nothing,” Marcus groaned, spread out over the command table with a bottle of spirits in his hand.

“Fucking Jaina, fucking Thalyssra, Sargeras take me, if it weren’t for those interfering cunts we’d been rid of them all by now!” the Slayer ranted from his perch over the bookcase his lover was doggedly trying to destroy with his own forehead.

“And I even got Saurfang to keep mum about the Council... no doubt when he hears about the bomb he’ll connect the dots,” Medivh grumbled from under the table. “I miss Sargeras, at least he knew how to properly get this sort of thing done,” he completed mournfully.

“Well,” the Farseer said from where she sat over Marcus’ knees, “at least we got rid of one Azerite machine. That’ll set them back a bit.”

The Archdruid of the Cenarion Circle rumbled his ursine assent, and curled up tighter to avoid the Acherus’ perennial chill.

“And we know now that Sylvanas is not shy of killing her own troops to make a point,” Hundred said, and shook his head. “And they called Lord Illidan evil. He would never have done anything like that. I mean, fine, he did get people killed, but he didn’t _actively_ kill them, much less raise them from the dead to serve as bone shields between him and his enemies!”

Exu groaned, resting his bloody forehead against the wood, and slipped to his knees.

“I still can’t believe she did that,” he said. “I tried helping them to run back, but they died so fast… and she raised them from my arms, that… that discount Lich Queen!”

“All is not lost, heroes!” a feminine voice said, and a golden Val’kyr appeared floating over the command table, from where Marcus leered at her. She cringed, and threw a scroll at his place, before disappearing in a sparkling golden cloud.

“Ow.”

“Gimme that,” the shaman said, grabbing the scroll while the paladin rubbed his nose. She unrolled it quickly and began reading, a smile forming on her green face.

“Guys? Guys, Saurfang is held at the Stockades, Angus says he was left behind by Sylvanas! We might not be out of the game yet!”

The letter from Odyn’s Warlord explained the situation and requested a death knight from the Alliance races to help with winning Saurfang to their cause and serve as direct liaison between Stormwind and the Acherus, which was for obvious reasons (since all death knights had to runeforge their weapons, they visited the Acherus with regularity, without raising suspicion) the main hub of information for the revolt.

The chosen was Hylarious Payne, youngest brother of Winter Payne, who was also a death knight, and Summer Payne, who was still alive and a priest in Stormwind.

“Are you sure you understand your orders?” Darion asked the human, who nodded. Winter slapped him upside the head.

“Answer your commander, insolent git!”

Hylarious gave his brother a hurt look while rubbing his head. “’m not a git,” he mumbled, and got another slap for his troubles. “Ow! Yes Highlord; help the Warlord into the prison, don’t tell anyone what we’re doing, don’t hurt people… but that gonna hurt me!” he whined, pouting.

“I’ve put a clause on your letter of recommendation where you’ll have a day off in every three to come back to the Acherus to prevent the Endless Hunger,” Darion explained. Unbeknownst to most, the arrangement between the Illidari and the Ebon Blade where they dueled – more brawled – at the Acherus to sate their need for violence had been extremely successful, and funnily enough was one of the reasons both Orders were so against the faction war; to both death knights and demon hunters, fighting other people wasn’t as much fun.

“Okay,” Hylarious said.

“Don’t forget to check on Summer. And be a good boy, don’t embarrass us,” Winter grumbled, and fixed his younger brother’s cloak before patting him on the back and pushing him over to the balcony, where Grimwing waited with a skeletal steed ready.

* * *

 

 

He had gone into the cell peacefully, a bundle of clothes and other essentials in his arms. The guards were polite, solicitous even; due to his age he had been given extra blankets to protect from the chill.

Humiliation ate him inside, but it was a resigned pain.

More time passed. After the first week, Saurfang was allowed to go above ground and see the sun for a few hours each day. At first he was alone. Later, the other inmates joined him, cautiously standing around the walls, watching what he did.

Most of them were human, and all of them were poor. He quickly got used to their cowed stares while he exercised.

And then, one morning, when his guard came to his cell, there was a dwarf with him.

“Um, I know it’s time for your sunbath but uh,” the guard, a human death knight, said pointing to the dwarf, an old juggernaut with an enormous beard, fearsome eyebrows and broken teeth, who stopped in front of the bars and began disarming himself.

Saurfang raised an impressed eyebrow at the sheer amount of metal piling up.

A good few minutes later, looking much slimmer, the dwarf entered the cell and the guard nodded, leaving them alone.

“Name’s Angus Stonehammer, an’ I’m Odyn’s Warlord, chief o’ all the warriors in Azeroth. Eitrigg talked a lot about ye, good tae make yer acquaintance,” he said, extending a hand.

“If your king has sent you, tell him I have no interest in betraying the Horde. I might have no loyalty for Sylvanas, but the Horde is my home.”

Angus just stood there, his arm stretched out for a minute. “If Anduin knew I was here, he’d have me head, or at least give me a slap in the wrist. An’ actually we’re only talkin’ because Varian died; Lo’Gosh would have seen the whole game by now, ye ken. Nobody could trick ‘im for long, an’ yon crazy banshee knows it.”

Saurfang’s eyes narrowed.

“On the other hand, Varian ain’t here, and his son is a ninny, Light bless his pure heart. He and that pet dragon o’ his are easy tae deal with, but we need tae get rid o’ the mutt and o’ the lass Jaina, as much as we need tae get rid o’ Sylvanas and that slime Nathanos. An’ we need that soon, or there won’t be no more Horde, an’ no more Alliance left,” the dwarf continued, and looked at his hand, before raising his eyes to Saurfang’s again. “The same Orders that saved Azeroth from the Legion need tae save it again, afore the factions kill it. Will ye help us, an’ with that help restore honor tae yer Horde?”

Saurfang stared at Angus for a long time, and then picked up a pillow.

“I don’t agree to plans I don’t know, so you can pull that arm back, at least for now. But I’ll let you explain your plan, Warlord,” he said, offering the pillow.

Angus took it, and sat down. “Fair enough.”

* * *

 

 

In Orgrimmar, the evacuees and the wounded filled the streets.

“If it wasn’t for our Nightborne allies, we wouldn’t have been able to escape,” Sylvanas said. “I commend you, Thalyssra, for your quick thinking in that moment.”

Thalyssra smiled and nodded.

“As for the Apothecaries who failed to tell us about the bomb,” Sylvanas said with a cruel smile, “they have been… reinstructed as to their duties. Now, carry on. This war has just begun. For the Horde!”

“For the Horde!” the other race leaders echoed, leaving the room, a cockroach running between their feet.

It navigated its way to the back of the Auction House, where it was restored to its regular form by a mage. Tiny thanked her and assumed wolf form as the mage teleported away, before running down to the Cleft of Shadows, where a portal could take her to Dalaran.

The Legedermain, while neutral ground, wasn’t really the wisest or safest place for people from two different factions to meet, much less conspire. So it was with a great amount of distaste that the shaman made her way down to the Cantrips and Crows, the most disreputable bar/inn/hideout in Azeroth.

“Hey… what’s a shaman pretty as yez doing in such a sleazy place?” a male voice said in a seductive tone as soon as she crossed the planks, and she sighed.

“Renzik, you’re Steamwheedle, I’m Bilgewater, it’ll never work,” Tiny replied, taking a seat at one of the rickety tables.

“Oh come on, don’t you want to be the Julianne to my Romulo?” he asked, eyebrows wiggling, before raising his hands in defeat when she casually dropped a fire totem. “Ok, ok, let’s talk business, not that you’re helping any like that, I loves me some feisty fema-ow! Alright, no need to throw the other cup at me, what’s going on in Orc Town?” he finished, chuckling and rubbing his forehead.

“Sylvanas turned on the Apothecaries, good thing our suicide team is strong-willed, cos from what I heard they’re going through a world of hurt right now,” she said with a grimace. “We can depend on them not telling on us, though. How’s the extraction team? That concoction is expensive, you know.”

“We’ve got it safe, toots, don’t worry about it. It’s all well-hidden and ready to be moved,” he said, dodging a rock she threw at him for the endearment. “Sucks that it din’t work, though, we been having a bunch of issues with people and this Azerite shit – ow, what did I say?”

“Don’t you call the blood of Azeroth names like that,” she growled. “Yeah, I know. It’s all we can do to hold the Asshole Prince from doing to Kalimdor what he did to Kezan. He actually told the Bitch Queen we’ve been dealing with it for years, now. I almost had a panic seizure when Eitrigg told me, but he just talked about what he found under Kezan; idiot is so badly connected he doesn’t know all the Cartels have been studying it together. By the way if you mention that to your Boy King I will personally cut your balls off and make you eat them, ya hear?”

* * *

 

 

“Wait, _you_ set up that bomb?” Saurfang asked in shock.

“Well yes we did, with a special little somethin’ the gnomes and the goblins fixed fer us. It’s a polymorph potion; we’d then gather the lot o’ them and send tae Outland so they could resolve their petty problems there, instead o’ bothering us here. We even had it all talked through with the ogres at the Ring o’ Blood and all, if only we hadn’t been thwarted by those meddling teleporting freaks.”

“And it was _you_ who burned Teldrassil.”

“Accourse, the damn tree was stuffed with Azerite, we couldna let the factions put their hands on all that firepower, if we had left it on their hands we wouldna be here talkin’ right now, either Tyrande would’ve blown Orgrimmar tae bits or Sylvanas woulda done the same tae Stormwind. They gone insane, I tell ye, all o’ them. Even if they don’t destroy Azeroth we got a chance Azeroth decides to kill us all herself, Magni says. We canna let that happen, have ye tasted the ale on Odyn’s halls? It is watered-down horse piss, no one deserves tae spend eternity drinkin’ that!”

Saurfang tilted his head and thought for a long minute.

“What do you expect to do with the people after you get rid of the race leaders? I mean, who will govern and protect the Horde, and the Alliance?”

“We gonna let ye decide in most cases. Humans we know can’t agree with each other without a king tho, so we got that covered by Anduin an’ Calia Menethil’s baby that is to come. Dwarves an’ gnomes can work with the Council, as long as the gnomes get a seat in.  Worgen are humans, so givin’ Tess the promise tae marry a child o’ hers with the heir tae Stormwind and Lordaeron fixes things. The Forsaken we know will follow Calia, especially cos she bein’ Queen Regent she can unite the livin’ and the dead; those undead who don’t wish tae follow her can join in the Ebon Blade, they be needin’ people tae help with poor Bolvar, that lad isn’t good in the head no more.”

“The elves are elves, as long as they’ve got where tae live and forests they’re happy, an’ we got people workin’ to teach the other races how to work with wisps to harvest lumber without hurtin’ the trees. That’d sort out the Orcs, the Trolls an’ the Tauren a treat, cos most o’ yer strife is getting’ enough tae eat an’ house yerselves. Goblins just want tae get rid o’ Gallywix an’ make things, as long as they don’t destroy anythin’ too badly they are fine. Anythin’ else is easy, I mean, the Pandaren are peaceful in either faction, we reckon it’s time for Horde an’ Alliance tael earn tae be more like ‘em, or like the Highmountain. Help each other get off each other’s lawn, ye ken. As for the factions themselves, War Council been working great on Ironforge and it was more or less what Thrall had in the Horde, Eitrigg says, so why not that? Whatever it takes tae stop one crazy idiot from havin’ all the power, methinks.”

“But what about you heroes? Your power is a source of imbalance.”

“Who, us?” Angus chuckled, pointing at himself. “We probably gonna be killed fer treason, accourse. Nobody will e’er understand what we’re doin’ as savin’ everyone, ye ken, but tis fine, we’re ready tae die so that no one has to go through what the factions are makin’ us do. It’s not fair tae demand us be brothers in arms today an’ enemies tomorrow, ye ken; rivalry is one thing, but killin’ people for the sake o’ holdin’ on to old ideas is dishonorable. People don’t exist tae serve ideas, ideas exist tae serve people!”

A single tear rolled from Saurfang’s eye.

“Dranosh used to say that,” he said with a faraway look. “He said that his dream was to see the Horde and the Alliance as comrades in war and peace; where rivalry between the factions could be resolved by demonstrating power, but with more honor and less death. We used to have that in Draenor, a competition between the clans, every year, in neutral ground. It kept peace, while allowing for rivalry, and demonstration of skills.”

“Like in the Brawler’s Guild, but with less bottles flyin’ around,” Angus said, nodding. “I been thinkin’ that too. Did ye know the Illidari an’ the Ebon Blade want tae live together in Northrend? They reckon that what with both o’ them being violent sorts, if they beat the shit outta each other they’ll get what they need and not bother anyone else. Could be cos Exu and that naked Slayer o’ his have corrupted the lot into takin’ things tae the next level, if ye ken what I mean, but we get our brawls in Odyn’s halls too, and I’ll say, tis honorable combat. And it don’t get the missus mad at us for destroyin’ their shrubbery or scarin’ the cows and the chickens, either,” he completed, winking.

Saurfang stared at the dwarf, his mind warring between his sense of duty to the Horde’s military system, and his love for honor. What would Dranosh do, he wondered?

Dranosh. Such a happy, strong, honorable orc. The pride of Saurfang’s life. Saurfang remembered the day he arrived in Dragonblight, only to find out the Horde and the Alliance had worked side by side, squirreling information to each other to coordinate their movements, and would soon face the Lich King together at the Wrathgate.

_He had been outraged at Dranosh’s request that Garrosh Hellscream not be informed of the battle to come._

_“You cannot hide your movements from your own army!” he had exclaimed in shock._

_Dranosh sighed, and ran a hand through his dreadlocks. “Father, if I inform Garrosh, he’ll do all he can to stop this incursion. Bolvar and I have spent months putting aside our differences for this joint attack to work, it is our best chance to cut the war short and save thousands of lives. I know Garrosh is higher than me in the hierarchy; but our senses of honor are different._

_Garrosh believes honor and pride are the same thing, father. He confuses what the Horde needs done with what his pride demands. He believes the Horde is but a symbol of orc power._

_I am different. When I think of the Horde I look around me and see the faces of my brothers and sisters in arms; I remember the faces of the people who sustain us with their humble work, making the supplies we use. The Horde is more than an ideal, father. It is a gathering of people from many different places and races, who put aside their differences in order to build a future together._

_My duty is to fight for them, the people of the Horde, and it compels me, father, to forgo my pride and fight side by side with the Alliance. Bolvar and I are rivals, but he believes the same; so he also forwent his pride in accepting our aid, for he also understands that the factions are nothing but their people.”_

And here, now, was a dwarf, a hero of the Alliance, ready to sacrifice himself, in body and soul and memory, to save the people of his faction, even if they’d hate him for eternity.

For Saurfang wasn’t a fool: he knew these people would be called cowards, would truly most probably be imprisoned, tried and executed even if their plan worked, for their choice of upholding their honor and their duty to Azeroth above their loyalty to the factions.

And then he knew what he was supposed to do.

“Tell me what you want from me, and I will do all I can to help.”


	10. The Power of a Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a filler because next chapter isn't ready yet - I know, sorry, but there's a lot of loose ends to tie up.  
> In the meantime I got a word prompt from the World's End Tavern forum, so I wrote this.

He was an urchin, and he was no one.   
  
His oldest memories were broken: hiding; adults fighting; crying, always crying, his empty stomach hurting, always hurting. Being dragged through the city’s streets. The green, and being told to stay there, or else.   
  
“Or else” hurt more than his stomach, so he stayed there, until his stomach hurt more, so much more that “or else” began to sound attractive. At least after there was some scrap to eat.   
  
He found his way out of the green, and found people. The people didn’t look at him, and that was fine; no good ever came from being noticed anyway.   
  
He found a market, and other kids as grubby and lost as he was; they gave him food, so he stayed. 

* * *

  
  
He was a rogue, and he was no one.   
  
His reasoning for that was simple: people called him so many names - Stop, Thief, Get’im, Scum, Cutpurse, Help, Scoundrel, Getoffmeyoubasterd, Burglar, Filth, Menace, Yesyourhonoritwashim – for so long, he figured he was, at best, nobody.  
  
And then the dead army came, and nobody called him anything because they were either dead, dying, or too busy burning the dead before they could get up again.   
  
He walked aimlessly, taking a fallen trinket here, a ring from a corpse there, and reached the Bazaar just in time to hear the Royal crier say the magic words:  
  
“… a cartload of gold!”  
  
His ears stood at attention, and he sidled closer to the stand.   
  
“By order of His Highness the Prince Kael’thas Sunstrider, the Crown of Quel’thalas shall pay a cartload of gold coins for whoever brings the head of the human Arthas Menethil, Kingslayer, Kinslayer, Commander of the Scourge, Defiler of the Sunwell…” the crier stopped and scowled at the dirty finger poking his ankle.   
  
“Yes?”  
  
“This cartload, like, it’s a cart-sized kinda cartload or just”  
  
“It is enough gold to bury you inside a cart, insolent git!”  
  
“Hm. Are we supposed to bring it here or…”  
  
The crier squinted, annoyed. “Whoever accomplishes the task shall take the proof of deed directly to the Court of the Sun, where it will be analyzed by our mages for authen”  
  
“Ok then, thank you!”  
  
The crier stared as he left, whistling.

* * *

 

 

It took three months to come up with a plan, get all the supplies (it was amazing what being invaded by the undead did to market prices, one literally had to resort to stealing just to make some decent poison, such a shame) and reach Lordaeron to go after his prey.   
  
After that, it was another month following and watching the Scourge army from close enough he had to rub carrion over his body to hide his scent, before he made his move.   
  
Arthas’ daily life with the Scourge was simple: he slept very little, mostly from midnight to before dawn, for the living only dared attack in daylight; he ate the same grub the cultists did, always some sort of stew made with roots, potatoes or other vegetables the cultists scrounged up from the farms they attacked.   
  
Never meat – and he quickly found out why, after being attacked by an undead rabbit, of all things.   
  
The zombies ate none of the living’s food, but lived on the human remains not considered serviceable even to build Abominations, or, in the sole case of the death knights – you could spot them from afar, strikingly well-preserved and well-armored humans and elves, even the occasional dwarf or gnome (he had snickered at the pint-sized soldier until he saw her rip the legs off a horse with her bare hands) – only animal meat, and mushrooms.   
  
Arthas was served a meal in his tent every night, and slept later – his sleep cycle was known by all the living in the camp, especially because his control over the dead sometimes slipped a bit, and many a cultist had met their end at the hands of a more enterprising ghoul. To avoid that, a death knight was tasked with watching over them.  
  
Still, it was the best shot he was ever going to get, so he waited, and one night, when the cultist tasked as Arthas’ manservant fetched his master’s water upriver from the camp, he swiftly dispatched the man and took his place, glad for the heavy hood that hid his features even if his ears hurt like hell all folded up.   
  
It all went flawlessly. Nobody said anything or expected him to; he was given Arthas’ bowl and walked with the confidence of one who had memorized the route between the cooking fire and the tent, gave the man his food, bowed, left and went to sit by the fire with the other cultists, waiting until he was dismissed, when he’d be able to sneak into Arthas’ tent and cut his head off.   
  
Too bad that exactly that night, of all nights, it was an Abomination that got loose.   
  
It happened quickly, as such things do: the monstrosity yelled, already charging at the living clustered around the fire, the death knight moved to intercept it, was thrown to the side, pulled on the Abomination’s ankle, the thing fell on top of the fire knocking everyone about, and the rogue’s ears sprung up for all to see.   
  
The cultists jumped him before he could sort up from down, and in a minute he was on his knees in front of his victim, cackling madly at his own terrible, horrible luck and the irony of all that gold gone to waste after all the work he had put in the job.   
  
He laughed even harder at Arthas’ tremendous tantrum at finding out he had been poisoned, and the panicked imbroglio that took over the camp. The only people still calm in the confusion that followed were the two death knights that held his arms aloft, one a male blood elf about half his own age, another a male human probably much younger, but who of course looked older than both elves combined.   
  
Kel’thuzad’s terrified screeches were so funny he pissed himself in his mirth. Really, it was not a bad way to go, maybe if the hilarity continued for long enough his heart would give out and rob the Kingslayer of his revenge – not that Arthas would live long enough to enjoy it, anyway.   
  
Unfortunately, the Prince’s potatoes had grubs, and he had noticed them as he ate. His fastidiousness gave Kel’thuzad the means to detect the poison used, and Kel’thuzad’s sheer panic for his own life gave him the means to reverse-engineer it in record time and thus save his master’s life.   
  
The death knight holding his right arm – the human one – told him so in a somber voice.   
  
He sighed. “Oh, bugger,” were his last coherent words, and Frostmourne, his last meal.  
  
At the end of the dark tunnel he saw, of all things, a troll.   
  
“Ya be a thrifty lil’ no one, ain’t ya? Bwonsamdi got a proposition to ya. Ya work for me, give me de souls of those who would take’em from Death… an’ I give ya one o’ mah oldest names, so nobody’ll evah forget who you be.”

* * *

  
  
He was a death knight, and he was Exu.


	11. The Plot Thickens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeeeeeeeah so this story is still gonna have a bunch of elements from the original but remember I told you it wasn't the exact same story? 
> 
> It isn't.

Umbric left the meeting with Alleria and Jaina Proudmoore very satisfied. He made a turn to the right, entering Stormwind Keep’s private gardens, and spotted the Queen sitting on a bench, reading a book. He looked around, but there was no sign of Wrathion, either in humanoid or dragon form – a fortunate coincidence, since the dragon had become fiercely protective of Calia Menethil ever since she had revealed her pregnancy, two weeks earlier; rumor had it that he had begun sleeping at the foot of her bed, even, treating the unborn child as if it was his own.

He gave obeisance in her direction, and the guard near her came closer. Another stood at the other side of the bench, and no doubt there were rogues stealthed in the garden… but those were not a problem for Umbric, or for the Queen.

“May I have a word with the Queen? I would like to convey the joy we feel on the coming of her firstborn,” he said meekly, and the guard narrowed his eyes. Such was the nature of the Void energies, bringing up suspicion on any that dealt with him; alas, the Queen raised her head, greeted him from afar, and he was granted passage.

Calia made a shooing motion to the other guard, who looked at her in shock.

“Please, there are more Si:7 here than there are trees, soldier. Be a dear and let us have the pretense of privacy,” she ordered, and the guard moved a few yards away, albeit reluctantly.

Umbric sat beside the Queen when she motioned in permission, and smiled.

“Good to see you have kept your royal manners sharp, my Queen,” he said in good humor, and she smirked. “Your old friend seems amenable to my suggestions, and my benefactor stays oblivious to it. Apparently her prowess does not extend to our mental abilities, which is quite fortunate.”

Calia nodded, and smiled. “Our new friend’s plan should go flawlessly then. That should buy us enough time to secure our future, at least,” she said, touching her midriff.

“About that, my Queen. Are you sure about allowing the dragon such an attachment? He has a very volatile history.”

“He does, yes. But his love is strong as the Earth his flight protected yesteryear. He sees himself as the King’s consort, and as such any child of Anduin’s is by extension his. So has Jaina told me Kalecgos taught her, and I have no reason to doubt that. Our future will count with his loyalty above all, I am certain of that.”

“If he doesn’t… the other is ready to intervene, though.”

“Let’s hope it does not come to that.” she made an unobtrusive gesture, and Umbric heard a faint swish of air from behind her. “I’m in the mood for a game, Magister Umbric. Have you ever played Gravestones?”

* * *

 

 

Spiritwalker Ebonhorn wouldn’t be caught dead thinking he’d someday be shaking his Tauren body to goblin music in a party a year ago.

Yet here he was.

_Shake it, sh, shake it shake it, sh, shake it shake It like a Selfie Mark III picture!_

He couldn’t help himself, the vibrations of the music just forced him to move; music was, he found, absolutely irresistible to black dragons.

If people knew about this before, his father wouldn’t have stood a chance in hell, he thought as he twerked across the packed room.

Every week the Farseer organized a dance party, and no matter the emergency, war, or work, every shaman in Azeroth attended religiously.

Even Magni himself had gone to one, after being invited due to complaining the weekly absence of the Earthen Ring in Silithus.

He had actually joined in the dance and marveled at the response from Azeroth herself, for the music and the dancing actually calmed the unborn Titan.

If only it worked on the undead, he mused, and sighed in open relief when he spotted the Farseer signaling at him from near the portal to Dalaran. He definitely could use a break by now.

“Oooh, thank the Elements,” he groaned as he came out on the other side, bending over to brace his knees. The Dalaran keepers scrunched their noses in horror, and he sheepishly slid away following his leader, begging their pardon for the amount of sweat he dripped on the floor before assuming his ghost wolf form.

He gratefully jumped into the fountain and washed the sweat off his fur before shaking himself off and assuming his Tauren form.

They sat in one of the benches at the empty Eventide, looking at the stars above.

“Your brother is well-behaved, the Queen says,” the Farseer said. “Is that true?”

“Not really. He has been in contact with the few left in the Black flight, and those have been harvesting Azerite. For what end, I do not know. But it worries me.”

Tiny’s eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t in the briefing I got. Which means”

“The King doesn’t know,” Ebonhorn agreed. “The reports I received say he has been stocking the Azerite into Onyxia’s old lair. Since the Cataclysm that area has been left undisturbed by the factions.”

“And It shares a border with Silithus. Easy to steal from the veins popping around Sargeras’ sword.”

“Exactly.”

“Keep an eye on it, and let either me or the death knights know if you get any important information. And Ebyssian,” she added, taking his massive hand into her tiny ones, “spirits be with you, always.”

He smiled, nodding graciously, before looking around and, assured they were unseen, leapt high into the skies, before transforming into his true form and flying home to Highmountain.

The Farseer sighed, and summoned her elemental ride. One problem under control, many others to work on.

* * *

 

“Och ye are a devious one, Saurfang,” Angus said, awed.

“I am only old enough to know how to deal with snakes such as Sylvanas. With this plan we surely can break the factions’ armies enough that the damage they deal to each other and Azeroth shall lessen, and give us time to come up with another way to deal with their leaders.”

“Wouldn’t ye rather warn our, er, bait about the plan, though?”

‘No. Weren’t they going to seek help from the Horde, anyway? They’ll get help from the Horde,” Saurfang said with a savage grin. “And help us in the process, as well. All we need now is a champion Sylvanas will never doubt.”

“Oh, oh! I know the _perfect_ person for that!” Hylarious exclaimed.

* * *

 

 

Exu stared at the humans.

“You want to send _Minerva_ to ‘save’ this Zandalari princess for Sylvanas. Minerva _Ravensorrow_ ,” he said.

Both Darion and Hylarious nodded enthusiastically.

“Sylvanas will never doubt her, what with her being so bloodthirsty cause of being with the Hunger all the time and stuff,” Hylarious said.

“And she is completely, utterly loyal, Deathlord. She would never betray the Ebon Blade, I give you my word,” added Darion.

“She’s unhinged, boys. How do we know she won’t just rampage on a mission like this? Every time I sent her down to the Shore it was all we could do to avoid her killing our allies along with our enemies. _The demon hunters_ are afraid of her.”

“Exactly,” said Darion, grinning. “That means Nathanos won’t be tempted to pay much attention to her. And she has no qualms about killing, well… anyone, so she won’t run the risk of being merciful with the Stormwind defenses, which will sate her hunger for the trip to Orgrimmar. And as soon as Sylvanas has her hands on the Zandalari”

“She’ll hold them for ransom in the form of their Armada,” Exu completed. “The Alliance will quickly realize that’s her plan, and send Jaina to Kul’tiras to intercept the ships, but when she reaches them, she’ll learn that the Zandalari will use them to attack Orgrimmar instead.”

“Yes, and then both attack Orgrimmar, which we can empty out quickly. Our forces in the Horde and the undead we’ll raise to replace the living will help finish off Sylvanas’ forces, we take Jaina prisoner and trade her for Saurfang, who will already have signed a treaty with Anduin and Calia to end the war,” said Nazgrim.

The Deathlord grimaced. “I don’t like this plan, it’s too perfect. But Saurfang’s a genius, so it might just work. Darion, go down to land with Minerva and sate your hunger on the creatures there with her until she stops jittering before explaining what she has to do. Hylarious – how the hell did Arthas let you live with that name, boy?”

The human grinned. “Winter was born in winter, Summer was born in summer, and I was born while Mama was watching a comedy at the puppet theater. So I was named Hylarious Payne out of that. Razuvius said he liked it.”

“By the Sunwell, why did I ask… go back to Stormwind and inform the others. Naz, let’s go beat the crap out of each other, I miss dueling.”

* * *

 

 

Vereesa raised weary eyes at her sister.

“Have you come to your senses yet?” Sylvanas asked, entering the cell with a plate in hand. “You should eat. Forsaken don’t need much… but they need some sustenance.”

Vereesa shook her head, and curled on herself, facing the wall.

“Very well.”

Vereesa trembled in fear and curled up even tighter, but to no avail. She felt the icy hand of her sister’s control invade her mind, her body.

“No… no, please… please… let me go, Light help me, please…” she babbled, her body standing up like a marionette, and then turning on her heel.

“If you obey, I will not have to do this, sister,” Sylvanas said, compelling her to the table at the corner of the small room. “You’ll enjoy the food, it’s from that eatery you loved when we were young.”

She watched her body go through the motions, cutting into the food and eating methodically. She felt no hunger, thirst or need for sleep; alas, sleep was what she did the most, to escape her nightmarish reality.

“Too bad Lor’themar must not know you are his guest, we had so much fun together,” Sylvanas said matter-of-factly. “As soon as the humans are done with, though, he and all of our people shall join our ranks, of course.”

Vereesa’s eyes widened and she began shaking uncontrollably, fighting Sylvanas’ control with all she had.

“You know… Arthas always thought of children as too weak to serve the Forsaken,” Sylvanas said in a thoughtful voice. “I wonder. Of course one can never have enough Abominations, but to be forever encased in the innocence of youth…” she forced Vereesa to take another bite of food.

“N… nnnmm…”

“Yes, dear? You wanted to say something?”

Vereesa suddenly had control of her voice. “No… not my boys. Please Sylvanas they’re your kin, don’t do this.”

“Well yes, they are my kin. And so are _you_ ,” Sylvanas said with hardness in her last words.

* * *

 

 

“Giramar! Galadin! Come get some breakfast!” Arathor hollered from the bottom of the stairs as he tied his hair with a ribbon on the way to the kitchens, and stopped at the hallway with a stupid grin on his face, which he quickly hid before his parents could see.

He knew he should be sadder about his aunt’s presumed death at the hands of the Horde, but to see his father and mother make breakfast together filled him with joy, a joy he had waited for his whole life.

His cousins poked him to let them through, and he went to sit at the table with them, Galadin affectionate, Giramar in a deep, somber mood.

Ever since Vereesa’s death the twins had coped as if their personalities were reversed. Galadin had fostered his hate for the Horde, but found some solace in Alleria’s arms and the fall of Lordaeron, while Giramar had become more and more introspective as the weeks passed.

Turalyon served the food, while Alleria sat across from the boys. Giramar sat quietly, only staring at his food.

“Eat up, boys, you need food to grow up,” Turalyon said as he sat, a smile on his face.

“I’m gonna be a paladin just like you and Arathor, Uncle Turalyon!” Galadin exclaimed, picking up his fork. “And then I’m gonna kill the Horde to avenge Mother and Father!”

Arathor gave him a high-five, and Turalyon mussed his hair, while Alleria noticed Giramar’s pale face lose even more color.

The boy stood abruptly. “I’m not hungry. Sorry.”

“Giramar, sit down and eat your food,” Turalyon chastised.

Giramar gave him a look of such pure, icy, crystalline rage that Alleria stood up, the Void energy within her stirring.

_‘Kill him! Kill him! Now, before she destroys us all!’_

“Why?” Giramar said in a grave tone.

“It’s our duty to fight the Horde! They killed Father! They killed Mother!” Galadin screamed at him, making a move to stand, but Turalyon stopped him.

“Giramar, the Alliance is in the right. We did not start this war!”

“Ever since I was born, all I hear is the Horde is bad and we have to fight them. They hurt us, we hurt them back, and the fight never stops. The Alliance kills and kills and kills, but there’s always more of them to hurt us, and we never kill them all! Why? Why do you let those who always harm us live?”

Turalyon gave him a hurt look.

“Because we’re not like them! We won’t kill the innocent to win a war!”

“Innocent?” Giramar spat. “Don’t pretend you care about the innocent, Uncle, while you’re here all proud and satisfied to see Galadin say he wants revenge!”

He turned to his shocked brother. “You’re gonna be just like him. You’ll kill, and kill, and kill, and kill, and when you get home you’ll feel you did the right thing, but all you did was plant the same seed of destruction that was planted in you,” he said, the white of his eyes suddenly glowing.

Galadin pushed his chair back and scrambled out of it to be pulled back by Turalyon, while Arathor jumped from his chair and across the table, to stand in front of Alleria, who had gone dark with Void power.

“You and them are the same,” Giramar whispered, and his voice hurt them like daggers, the air heavy as before a rainstorm. “You care nothing about Life. All you do and teach is kill and destroy, and as if that wasn’t enough you raise the very dead to kill again, and now you use Mother’s blood itself to kill each other, and her with you! Can’t you hear her? Can’t you hear her _screams_?” he bellowed, and the floor shook. “How can you waste Life **_while She howls in pain_**?!”

A gale of raw power buffeted them against the walls, which bulged outward, cracking.

Arathor’s ears ringed as he pulled himself up, pushing the table which had turned over them. He reached for Alleria, who was curled up, shaking incontrollably, her face a rictus of pain, a river of tears marring her face. He could feel tears rolling from his own eyes as well, unbidden.

“… thor?...ria?”

“…at?...tie …ria?”

The voices of his father and cousin sounded as from far, far away, and he shook his head as he picked Alleria in his arms.

He turned to see his father try to reach for Giramar, when a booming voice spoke clear in their minds.

‘Don’t touch him!’

They stared, as Malfurion Stormrage crossed the threshold slowly, and kneeled before the unconscious boy, his head down.

His head raised slowly, tears rolling from his eyes, a terrible sadness in his visage.

“Xaxas,” he whispered.

They cleared the kitchen as best they could, and Turalyon put a kettle on the wood stove to make some tea, while his son and his cousin sat around the table, which stood precariously supported by three legs and Arathor’s shield. Alleria had been taken to their living room, and laid on the cushions they kept for visitors.

Giramar remained on the floor, covered in fresh peacebloom flowers which Malfurion had asked of one of the dozens of druids and shamans who had flocked to the front of their house from as far as Goldshire.

“Nobundo is on his way,” Malfurion said after lighting a final candle around the boy, and took a seat.

“Lord Stormrage?” Galadin asked quietly, giving him a fearful glance. “What is xaxas?”

“Xaxas… is the name my ancestors gave to the embodiment of elemental rage. They used it mostly to describe what they thought Deathwing was,” he explained, “for the Aspect of Earth was most noted by catastrophes, like volcanoes, or earthquakes. But broadly, it means elemental fury.”

“And that is why you called Nobundo,” Arathor said, and he nodded. “But… why did _you_ come here so fast? You are a druid, not a shaman.”

Malfurion gave him a sad look, and motioned to Giramar.

The flowers were now gone, and the boy was now covered in Peacebloom seedlings.

“Because it is Life’s Xaxas.”

* * *

 

 

“Remember, it can’t only look real. It must _be_ real, otherwise they shall not believe it,” K’ara said. “Do you trust me, Grom Hellscream?”

Grom took a shaky breath. The plan to help Azeroth while protecting its refugees in Draenor had been laid out by his son, Gromgar, who now stood beside his wife and their children, along with the rebel Azerothians.

“The spirits are in agreement… so yes, I trust you.”

Gromgar approached and hugged him.

“The Light will protect you, father. Don’t be afraid.”

Grom chuckled.

“I’m not a paladin like you, son. I respect the Light, but… I’ve done things… terrible things,” he said, and swallowed dry.

“The Light sees no good, nor evil, Grommash Hellscream,” the Naaru said. “It is a power, like all others. It does not judge those who wield it, or those who are benefited by it. And thus comes its greatest lesson: all things can be corrupted, and all things can be purified. What really counts is intention.”

Yrel came closer, along with the children. “Your sins were paid for over the years. The Light will not forsake you, Grom.”

“You can trust Mama, Grandfather,” the youngest, already a teenager by Orc standards, said.

His grandson, a shaman, hugged him as well. “If they don’t bring you back, I will.”

He stared at his family, one of many that had formed over the years. Draenei lifespan being so long compared to Orcish had meant nothing when love happened between his son and the Exarch, and so many other mixed couples. K’ara had come to respect the shaman faith, and admittedly learn from it, a show of humility that encouraged part of the Orcs to learn more and, in time, embrace the Light as well.

He made his decision.


	12. Ones - morning edition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do we know, another filler chapter while the next one doesn't get finished. 
> 
> Can I ask you guys something? What do you think about my characterization of the npcs? I mean, I know they're quite OOC compared to canon - I mean, my Anduin for example isn't Holier than Jesus Christ, Perfect Specimen of Non-Toxic Masculinity, The Gary Stue To Rule Over All Other Gary Stues, Human Potential Incarnate, High King of the Alliance, King of Stormwind, Lord of the House of Wrynn, Son of the Wolf, Commander of all Alliance Forces, Apple of Golden's Eye His Majesty Anduin Llane Wrynn - but I'd totally like to know what you think about who I'm making him and the others to be. 
> 
> And now without much due, another snippet into Ebon Blade daily life because people prompted me and I fell for it.

One of the perks of having a "thing" with a demon hunter was that with a simple blanket you woke up warm enough to almost feel alive, their body temperature was so high. So although he's used to taking a wink wherever he is capable of getting away with it, whenever Èxu can, he'll find a way to persuade his personal body warmer to sleep with him.   
  
Death Knights, although incapable of feeling cold,  _can_  feel warmth and are mostly obsessed with it - except for Corvus, who said it made his bones feel slimy, but after Minerva Ravensorrow of all people found out his romance with a living Worgen (and the fact he had actually given the lady one of his bones so she could gnaw on) he never dared comment on other people's quirks. Or kinks.   
  
Another little-known fact is that although Arthas forbade the Scourge to sleep and the undead didn't feel the need for it, it was in fact very healthy for one's mind to take a wink now and then; it was rest not only for the body but of the soul and relieved a bit of the strain the unnatural bond of undeath pushed on it, making the undead who slept much less prone to paranoia or random bursts of rage.   
  
That is something the Ebon Blade discovered because Koltira found a way to get rid of the monstrous shades that fed on his guilt and regret and was thus able to have a sound week of deep, dreamless sleep afterwards, waking up feeling so restored he swore to make time for a nap here and then from then on.   
  
Of course the people at the Acherus didn't learn of that until Thassarian and Èxu waltzed into the Undercity (because with the Deathlord being Sin'dorei there was no need of crazy backdoor schemes) and got Koltira out.   
  
When Èxu learned that Koltira slept soundly, without the crippling nightmares that affected the average undead, he shook the elf around by the ear until he shared his findings and helped all his brothers-in-arms to get rid of their own mental leeches.  
  
And this is why Darion Mograine has a hot water-bottle inside a teddy bear.

* * *

 

One of the things the Ebon Blade did away with when they left the Scourge was Kel'thuzad's unhealthy obsession with keeping everyone smelling foul like "proper" undead.   
  
It was enough that they had Lord Thorval's ever-stinking laboratory to live with, not to mention the smell of carrion drew in flies who were more than happy to lay eggs into people's body cavities and waking up to the sight of maggots crawling out of your nose was a peculiar horror that disturbed people more than actually killing somebody.   
  
So the first thing the Ebon Blade did after signing the hostage contracts with the Alliance and the Horde was sending all their gnomes and goblins for a crash course in plumbing engineering and promoting Squire Edwards to Janitor.   
  
After a few squabbles about details like how to best adapt the communal bathrooms - which were just shabby, somber rooms with one tiled wall with a communal sink where one could only wash the blood and guts from their face to be able to see, and one lined up with chamber pots (you really don't want to know what they did with the contents of those; let it suffice to say that ghouls and geists had a huge improvement in their diet when the Ebon Blade took over the management), where those who still had functioning digestive tracts had to squat beside each other - and that simply because of the ridiculous cost of just making personal baths like the Lich King had had in his room (and oh the outcry when they found all the amenities there, including soft towels and hair products, the Sin'dorei vowed to barbecue Arthas' entrails when they saw that), the Ebon Blade put themselves to work.   
  
What came out of their combined efforts was one very large and functional room, with actual working plumbing and real flushing toilets in individual stalls, several working showers with actual hot water provided by Peggy Burridge ( who had been a mage in her previous life and was still proficient) for a small fee - and which soon became a good alternative for those Ebon Blade with Arcane talents who didn't want to be transferred to the factions, along with selling various kinds of soap - and one large, Pandaren-style communal hot-water pool where people could soak, but only under supervision, since the warmth was so delicious some enterprising and less preserved death-knights of the more Forsaken persuasion started hacking at their dessicated abdominal muscles so the hot water could reach their guts and bones, and the consequent mess had nearly provoked an internal war between them and the Sin'dorei.   
  
And the result of all that effort was that Death Knights found out their natural body odor now reflected their specializations.   
  
Frost Death Knights like Thassarian were all extremely content to see that they smelled of winter frost, with just a subtle undertone of pine.   
  
Blood Death Knights like Koltira and Èxu had a musky, irony scent reminiscing of war and battles which, if not exactly pleasant, had the upside of acting like a potent aphrodisiac for people with a more violent disposition and that suited Èxu just fine.   
  
Unholy Death Knights like Darion Mograine had been disconsolate to find out their natural scent was at best a sickly sweet smell of disease, and they were the most avid consumers of scent-covering soaps, lotions and perfumes. Darion was famous for buying them by the crates and sometimes people knew he was coming just for the springlike smell of Silverleaf heralding his presence from a mile away.   
  
Ghouls, geists and Abominations, per Janitor Edwards' strict instructions, were lined up on the second-floor balcony and cleansed by Voragosa's frost fire twice a week. They tended to smell like jerked beef barbecue - which while not really a smell you'd associate with being clean, wasn't all that bad either.   
  
The only downside to that was that Voragosa's babies and the other assorted undead animals the Ebon Blade had fostered over the years had to be fed twice as often on those days, otherwise Grimwing would spend all his time running away from them.

* * *

 

 

One of the things that annoyed Highlord Darion Mograine to no end was the complete lack of proper respect to the chain of command he was a victim of ever since he began dating Aimee, only because she was the purveyor of the finest sweet pastries and treats in Dalaran - and Dalaran's sweet pastries and treats were the best in Azeroth, since what with all the crazy sugar-fueled mages around natural selection quickly removed bad bakers from the city's food scene. 

So whenever Darion spent the night at Aimee's he, being an all-around wholesome good guy and also having a ridiculous sweet tooth himself, took a sample of goodies back to the Acherus when he went back. That had become sort of a routine at the beginning of the week, too, what with the ending of the Legion threat and his own new attributions, so the Acherus personnel had gone from being very thankful and happy for the sweets, to _expecting_  them for breakfast at least once a week. 

Everyone did give him the respect he was due in other matters and occasions, but it was come back fitting a pulley piled high with Aimee's delectable goods, or be literally thrown back through his own Deathgate to get them, nowadays. They just pooled the cash and threw the money satchel at him when he was leaving for Dalaran, too. 

"He spends nights in Dalaran too, why don't you make _him_ bring the goodies?" he exclaimed once in outrage at the mess hall, pointing to Èxu, their once-and-still-but-only-secretly-because-otherwise-our-plans-won't-work Deathlord, who was innocently filling a cup with Grummle coffee from the pot. 

"Because he spends the night at the Cantrips and Crows," said Corvus, busy with a side of Kvaldir cheese.

"And he supplies the booze, that's _his_ job," said Siouxsie, grabbing a chocolate-glazed doughnut with the serene look of someone who was dead and thus could eat whatever the hell she wanted with no fear of gaining weight. 

Darion pouted. Yes, he couldn't very well argue with that, the amount of hard liquor that elf brought back home was enough to make even _them_ drunk. 

"Still, it's bad for morale when even you officers will disrespect me over something so trivial, so _stop it_!" he shouted. 

Janitor Edwards then picked up a cupcake from the table, and bit it while giving Darion a hard, long, _considering_ look. 

The Acherus never wanted for breakfast delicacies after that, and even Darion had to agree that if he didn't forget bringing the treats the man responsible for his washing liked he wouldn't _have_ to be thrown back through his own Deathgate, so the hierarchy was restored. 


	13. Moving with the Tides

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for the comments and the kudos, they really help, you guys have no idea. Writing is lonely work. Sorry about the huge delay between chapters, this story is a bit... complex to develop. And I don't like releasing stuff without at least checking if it makes sense. 
> 
> I also think maybe my reason for Anduin to have imprisoned Princess Talanji and to send Jaina to Kul'tiras is more fleshed out than what happens in BfA, I mean, we never actually learn how the hell or why did they lock her in the Stockades in the first place. 
> 
> Adalyn Forestwatcher and Athair are characters from BfA in Drustvar.
> 
> Oh, oh! And my Wrathion looks more or less like this guy:  
> https://i0.wp.com/www.adventuresinpoortaste.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/wraithion.jpg?w=1200

 

“The Zandalari Princess? How fortuitous. Nathanos, get a team ready. Take this champion with you, and retrieve my prize.”

“Of course, my Queen,” Nathanos said, bowing, before not-quite-subtly prodding Minerva out of Grommash Hold.

Now, Minerva Ravensorrow was many things. Jittery, bloodthirsty (the Eternal Hunger in her was really acute), admittedly somewhat deranged, maybe morally gray, but even she had standards.

She had joined the Ebon Blade because she firmly believed in free-will: she had been killed and raised by the Scourge as a slave twice already, and she’d be damned if she was ever gonna let anyone get away with doing that to her again.

She also believed in basic ecologic principles: as in, if you killed all the living, you were bound to run out of living things to kill, and that would be a damned shame, for if there was something Minerva Ravensorrow liked to do, was kill living things.

So it was extremely easy for Darion Mograine to convince her to participate in yet another attempt to off Sylvanas Windrunner, especially since Minerva had met some of Sylvanas’ mind-controlled Forsaken in Stormheim and wanted to have none of that in her future, thank you very much.

Besides, Nathanos Blightcaller was, in her humble opinion, an asshole. Like, what the fuck man, couldn’t he be the least civil to a fellow Forsaken, let alone one that was about to risk her ass in the middle of Stormwind just to get some Trolls out of prison? Jeez, he was worse with the new body than he was with the old rotting one, Sylvanas had probably not thought much about the fact that well-preserved undead still had libidos, and considering she was a banshee, without any way to feel physical sensation despite all those magically preserved curves, it was a wonder Nathanos wasn’t bow legged to avoid chafing his blue balls by now.

She gritted her teeth, and followed him, reminding herself she had promised both the Highlord and the Deathlord to not kill Nathanos until she was given permission.

She could tell this was going to be a hell of an annoying mission, though.

* * *

 

 

Thassarian and Koltira watched in stunned silence as the Lich King moved past without acknowledging them, pushing a wheelbarrow full of saronite ore to one of the forges at Malykriss.

“The man has lost his gourd…” Thassarian whispered, awestruck, and waved his hand in front of the Helm of Domination, pulling it hastily back before Bolvar trampled him.

“I’m more concerned over what he’s crafting. What in the Nether is that thing? It’s too frail to be a cage,” Koltira said, walking around an unfinished but already enormous contraption made of saronite filigree movable bits.

“It almost looks like chain mail to me, but for the love of the Light, what could be big enough to wear that?”

Thassarian approached the contraption from the other side, warily stealing glances to where Bolvar carefully scummed out the ore and raised the melting pot with his naked hands, before moving to a long line of small molds, filling each with careful, methodical care.

He nodded to himself at the end of the line, and raised a hand, slowly sucking out the heat of the molds, which opened at the end of the process, liberating their contents. He then raised his other hand, and the bits rose in a flurry, hovering in the air while he moved to the front of the unfinished piece.

His head tilted.

“Yes… I see,” he whispered very quietly, and nodded in his trance. Inside the Helm, and thus hidden to the Death Knights, who were currently huddling together away from him, Ner’zhul and Arthas’ shades held each other’s hands, and gave Bolvar’s work the same glazed look he had.

“It is beautiful, Master,” they said in unison, and the Helm laughed heartily.

* * *

 

 

“You Death Knights are so lucky,” Ron, the day guard, told Hylarious as he opened the gate to the lower dungeons. “Not only you got more days off but they’re just the day the Horde decides to invade, too. Boss man says the King is royally pissed, and that dragon of his looked at us like we was lunch. Thought he was gonna eat us, too.”

“The Horde invaded? Oh shit, my prisoner!”

“Nah,” the soldier replied, shaking his head. “Old orc was sitting all prim and proper when we came in. They got the trolls the navy caught some time ago, though. Oh, man, Lady Jaina went spare, she had’em in her hand, she did, but the fiends had set fire to some timber at the fishmonger’s market, ya know, next to that little slum close to the docks? Went up a treat, it did, and she had to let’em go to save the people.”

They reached Saurfang’s cell, and Ron gave Saurfang a curious look.

The orc raised his head from the book he was reading, and smiled.

* * *

 

 

Anduin stretched his arm to keep Wrathion from advancing as Jaina entered the throne room.

“Your Majesty,” she greeted with a curtsy, but stopped short when looking at the dragon.

Wrathion’s human form had grown from the last time she had seen him. He was still recognizable, but instead of the young, thin figure he had before, he was now taller than Anduin, looking older than the king and much stronger. A fully grown male, square-jawed and menacing, looking at her with angry red eyes.

“Our enemies remain one step ahead of us. The Zandalari will certainly put their fleet at the Horde’s disposal, now that we no longer have Princess Talanji hostage,” Anduin said. “The time has come to call upon old allies in distant lands, and to see the true might of the Alliance made whole again. Pack your bags, Jaina. You’re headed for Kul’Tiras.”

Jaina’s mouth gaped.

“The Horde has just run wild through Stormwind and you want to send me home?!”

“You allowed them to leave, Jaina.”

“That is hardly fair, my king. Our fleet pursued them and”

“And was destroyed by their foul magics,” Wrathion intervened in a snarl.

Jaina’s eyes narrowed. “Well, far be it from me to say that _someone_ could have flown in and set their ship on fire!”

Wrathion hissed, taking a step forward, and Anduin barred him again, closing his eyes with an annoyed sigh and holding the bridge of his nose with his left hand.

“Guards, leave us.”

As the soldiers obeyed and closed the doors, he stared hard at her. “I am now entrusting you with the Alliance’s most important and sensitive secret, Jaina.”

“Wrathion’s main duty is now to protect the heir to the thrones of Stormwind and Lordaeron,” he said. “Calia is pregnant with my child.”

Her eyes almost popped out of their sockets in shock, and she collapsed on her knees.

“Anduin...”

“The only reason he is not with her right now is that the Queen is with Prophet Velen, being examined,”Anduin explained. “On the rare occasions when he must be away from Stormwind, the Si:7 along with Wrathion’s personal guards watch over her.”

She let her gaze fall on the black dragon, still stunned. Calia had been her dearest friend, over what seemed a lifetime ago. Why hadn’t she called her?

“The Queen agrees that her pregnancy must be kept in utmost secrecy,” Wrathion said.

“Underestimating our enemy has already cost us enough lives,” Anduin completed. “Of the Alliance leaders, only Velen, and now you, know of my unborn child. I am sending you to Kul’Tiras because we need a fleet to intercept the Zandalari. Their ships must not reach Kalimdor, and this task is something only you can do. Kul Tiras must pledge their fleet to the Alliance. Can I count on you, Jaina?”

She stared at the boy she had watched grow, and realized there was only one answer.

“I will see it done. I will do anything to defeat the Horde, my King,” she said, bowing where she kneeled, and raised her head again, her eyes shining. “May... may I see my friend the Queen before I leave, though? Only briefly, I promise.”

Anduin rose, and gave her his hand, helping her stand. “Of course,” he said with a grin, and she hugged him.

“I still can’t believe you’re going to be a father,” she said, taking a step back. “Look at you. Varian would be so proud... I am so happy for you, Anduin.”

He rolled his eyes in embarrassment. “Thank you, Jaina. It means a lot to me... to us,” he amended quickly. “We’ll take you to her quarters. Your ship is being prepared as we speak, though, so it needs be a quick visit.”

She noticed Wrathion’s protective stance as they went further into the Keep. The dragon stepped a couple of feet behind them, and she could swear she felt the heat coming from him.

The closer they got to the Keep’s residential area, the tighter security was: Jaina could feel the eyes of several hidden Si:7 agents on her, with Wrathion’s personal guard ostensively patrolling the corridors.

They finally reached the Royal quarters, and Jaina felt relieved as she heard familiar laughter. She saw Anduin smile beside her, but the dragon’s reaction was much more remarkable; he whined like a puppy, Anduin turned to him, nodded, and Wrathion ran towards the room in the middle of the corridor.

“Come see this,” Anduin told her, and hurried after Wrathion just as Velen began to protest.

Jaina ran, and stopped at the threshold.

“Anduin you really shouldn’t allow your, er, friend to behave like this,” Velen said with a frown as Wrathion walked on top of the biggest nest Jaina had ever seen, with Calia laughing in his arms, and turned into his dragon form, curled up around the queen and blew a dragon-sized raspberry at the Prophet before nuzzling her affectively.

“Oh Velen, don’t mind the boy, he just wants to care for us,” Calia said, and blinked as she crossed eyes with Jaina. “Jaina?” she asked, and squealed, jumping to her feet. Wrathion protested, but she just pushed his muzzle away. “Don’t be grumpy, Wrathion, she’s my friend! We practically grew up together!”

Jaina smiled, walked a few feet into the room, but went no further. Despite Wrathion’s affectionate stance around the queen, his expression was openly hostile to her.

“So how is the queen, Prophet?” Anduin asked, trying to defuse the tension, while Calia walked out of the nest despite the dragon’s put out huffs.

“Calia fares well, Anduin. She and your child are in perfect health, despite certain... less than adequate conditions,” Velen said, giving Wrathion a poignant look, which the dragon completely ignored as he followed Calia’s movements with his eyes.

Jaina hugged her friend. “You never looked for me,” she chastised as Calia drew back.

Calia smiled. “I’m sorry. I spent most of the past years in Netherlight Temple,studying. Come sit with me,” she said, and turned around. “Anduin, Wrathion, you boys please behave while I talk to my friend. No,” she gestured a negative to the dragon, “Remember, I can talk to my friends alone when I want to. I promise we’ll keep to my study, and we’ll be right back, I just want to have some girl talk,” she explained, and both dragon and king made a face, before turning their attention back to Velen.

She led Jaina into a side door leading to a study with a large desk, a few comfortable chairs, and bookcases from floor to ceiling, nearly bursting with books.

Jaina noticed a few tomes on the nature of relationships in the various dragonflights among the others. She herself had copies of those, due to her relationship with Kalecgos.

“So,” Calia said, sitting on one of the chairs. “I hear you got yourself a dragon of your own!”

Jaina smiled sadly. “Calia, are you... happy?” she asked quietly. “I mean... you were so intent in marrying for love, and...”

“I was young and foolish, Jaina, and the responsibility was in Arthas’ hands. My people need me, and I will do whatever it takes to rebuild Lordaeron,” she said, and touched her still mostly flat belly. “Anduin is a good man, who understands the need for continuity. And before you say it, I do know about him and Wrathion,” she chuckled. “For what it’s worth, my son will have two fathers who already love him very much. And that makes me happy.”

Jaina nodded, relieved. Her friend had grown up well; and Anduin had actually made a good choice in marrying her.

“I promise I’ll do everything in my power so that your baby can grow up free of the threat of the Horde,” she said, taking Calia’s hands on her own.

* * *

 

 

The door rattled again.

“Go away!” Marcus yelled, and covered his head with a pillow.

“Och, I’ll get it,” his dwarf companion said, before getting up the bed with a groan. Marcus sympathized with her, but his own pelvis was too sore for chivalry.

“Highlord Marcus, King Anduin commands thee... er.”

“Come in, I’ll be lettin’ meself out in a minute,” she said (Marcus was sure if he was given another five minutes he’d be pressed to remember her name) before he heard the telltale sound of chainmail armor being hastily put on for the walk of shame.

The door opened and closed again before the soldier cleared his throat loudly.

Marcus groaned.

“Uh, Highlord Marcus of the Silver Hand, His Royal Majesty King Anduin Llane Wrynn, High King of the Alliance, King of Stormwind and Lorda -”

“For Light’s sake, get on with it!”

The herald cleared his throat again.

“His Majesty commands thee to make ready for a most secretive journey in service of the Allian-” the man’s eyebrows nearly touched his hairline, as Marcus’ sword hovered an inch away from his nose. “Er, you are to accompany the Lady Jaina Proudmoore to Kul’Tiras, milord, her ship is at the ready at Stormwind Harbor.”

“Hmph. Now, was that so hard? I’ll be there in half an hour,” Marcus grunted as he got up and laid his sword on the bed before scratching his groin. “You gonna stay here? I think we got time for a quickie,” he said, and laughed loudly as the soldier made a hasty exit.

* * *

 

 

Meanwhile, Minerva was in a serious pickle.

She had been trapped in the Zandalari ship for two days already, with only rats to torture and stupid fish to kill, and the Hunger was making her bones burn.

Who’d think that bitch Nathanos didn’t even have it in him to just knock the Zandalari out and drag their asses to Orgrimmar? Minerva wanted to switch his eyeballs for his testicles by now.

She took a deep, entirely uneeded breath and worked on testing the poison pill she had received in Orgrimmar, praying to all that was Unholy that her hunch was right.

Ten hours and two entire barrels of water later – she had to tip her hat to the manwhore’s skill, the pill was enough to kill an entire Tauren male – the rat she was watching stirred back into conscience, right in time for the cook to start wondering where all the fresh cooking water had gone.

Another couple of hours and Minerva was licking the blood off a dagger used to disembowel, quarter, dress and eat a crew member unlucky enough to skip dinner, right before she stepped through her Death Gate.

Thalanos was just jumping off his skeletal steed when Grimmjow jumped behind him, trembling and mumbling in terror, a grinning Minerva after him.

“Minerva?” he asked, and she growled.

“Ok, ok... let me take you upstairs and you can kill Rotgut as many times as you want, how about that? We’ll even let you make balloon animals out of his intestines!”

A large head peeked out of a corner with a betrayed expression.

“Rotgut _Rotgut_? **ROTGUT!** ”

* * *

 

 

The upper echelon of the Ebon Blade was sitting around the long table they had commandeered in the mess hall, reading reports from the various neutral factions already allied with them.

A grinning Minerva entered jumping, wound in chains from neck to toe, followed by the grumbling, recently rebuilt Rotgut.

“Rot, gut!” the Abomination said in an annoyed tone, and unwound the Death Knight before leaving the room, still shaking its head.

As the Death Knights stood to greet her, time stood still, and the Acherus was immersed in the dark hues of the Shadowlands.

Exu prostrated, and touched the ground three times with his forehead.

“Good to see you kept yah manners, boy,” his Loa said, stepping forwards and motioning with his hand for him to get up.

“My Father Bwonsamdi,” Exu said, and rose to hug him. Tears welled in his eyes at the feeling of absolute peace, of home, his Loa exhuded.

“Stop cryin’ on me, mon, ya makin’ me embarrassed,” Bwonsamdi said, slapping his back when they drew apart. “It is no coincidence Talanji’s takin’ da Horde to Zandalar; me and de other Loa have put da juju in her to do it. Vol’jin made a big mistake wit what we told ‘im to say, but it was good in de end, cause de Old Gods be wreakin’ havoc wit de other Loa, puttin’ ideas in Zul’s head to start raisin’ da dead in me own land, makin’ it filthy wit dem nasty Naga of deirs, and de Zandalari be too busy scheming against each other to do what must be done.”

“Ya be goin’ to Zandalar too, boy. While dat underling,” he pointed at Minerva’s frozen form, hanging in the air mid-hop, “tricks da Horde, you help my people get rid of dem blood troll necromancers. Ya can do whatevah you want with dem, I don’t care. Just get me souls back, and make dat Zul pay. Oh,” the Loa said in a humored tone, “I hear ya got yaself a pet demon hunter. Dat true?”

Exu grinned.

Bwonsamdi laughed. “A soul I can’t take, too! Good on ya!”

“Bwonsamdi,” Exu said, his grin gone, “The Lich King. He’s beginning to show signs he might rebuild the Scourge. The other undead besides us Ebon Blade don’t know he can take away our will, and Sylvanas wants to raise her own undead army. Should we tell her, and lose his trust? We undead cannot keep rising in numbers, and it was hard enough convincing Faol to build the Council to oppose the banshee. We ourselves are afraid for those we raise to trade places with the living; if the Lich King wills it, all undead but me and the Five will be his slaves again.”

The Loa smirked. “Do ya trust ya Loa, boy?”

The elf nodded without hesitation.

“Den ya leave da Lich King to me. Go now, and get ya army ready, dere’s many, many souls for ya to harvest!”

The Deathlord blinked back into the world of the living.

* * *

 

 

Word traveled with the speed of Medivh’s mages, and soon it reached all those who needed it.

“Oh good,” Allari said with a sigh. “We’ll finally get rid of the stench.”

“Hey! I’m not the only one with an undead pet… lov… _friend_ around here, you know!” Marius yelled from across the room.

“No, but yours stinks more. No offense, Tehd,” she refuted.

“None taken,” Tehd said, distractedly waving a hand from where he was still perusing the demonic texts the Illidari had collected from Argus. “Here’s something interesting, apparently some of the upper echelon in the Burning Legion experimented with blood magic. Hmmmm… maybe that’s how that school of magic became available to the Ebon Blade?”

Matron Mother Malevolence caught his words as she approached the Slayer. “Oh, so you want to know about Blood magic then? We invented it,” she said matter-of-factly, and raised an eyebrow when everyone stared at her. “What?”

“Is Siouxsie here yet?” the Slayer bellowed. “Get her!”

Siouxsie was, in fact, just putting on her boots at that moment. She stood and moved to where Kor’vas was still spread over the demon they had killed, and bent over her for a kiss.

“Mnmmmmhhmmm… by Elune, you destroyed me,” Kor’vas muttered.

“Destroyed or not, the Slayer wants you both up there,” Kayn said, huffing in distaste as the females yelped, and turned around to take the teleport out of the room.

‘Damned Death Knights corrupting all my people,’ he thought, pouting.

* * *

 

 

Grimwing didn’t even take notice of the throng coming out of the Death Gate at first, but even though he was but a lowly ghoul he wasn’t completely dead, and when the Shivarra passed by with those huge legs wearing a thong his eyes popped out of their sockets.

The Illidari and their associate undead stopped short before entering the mess hall.

“And here we thought we were going to surprise you people,” Tehd commented, a hand gesture encompassing the five Death Knights sitting on assorted luggage.

* * *

 

 

Turalyon cleared his throat.

“Uhhhh… don’t you think we should tell the King about this? Or at least the Prophet?” he asked in a nervous voice, pointing at what used to be his kitchen.

“No. Velen will not understand, and Anduin would only worry unduly,” Nobundo said.

Turalyon gave Malfurion a pleading look. “But we can’t… we need to do something about this, Alleria, the Void Elves, even warlocks and demon hunters can’t even get close to the house without falling ill,” he said. The family had needed to move to an inn all the way across the city, such was the discomfort Alleria had developed.

Malfurion’s eyes had glazed over as he stared at the explosion of life that was slowly covering the house in greenery. A butterfly landed on his nose, and he blinked.

“No one touch it, lest we harm the boy,” he said. “I’m sorry, Turalyon. I will enter the Emerald Dream in search of Cenarius and Ysera. For now, it is all we can do. Other than that… we wait.”

* * *

 

 

Far, far away from Stormwind, Adalyn Forestwatcher finished digging a hole.

“Very well, Athair… what are we supposed to, ugh!” she doubled over, and heaved, and heaved, retching and crying out in pain.

A large seed spat out of her mouth straight into the hole, and she passed out.

The great white stag huffed, and roots rose from the ground, raising the woman and resting her upon his back.

The hole closed itself up as he returned the druid to her home.


	14. Just a brief commentary

Holy crap wtf was that Sylvanas tantrum man? 

 

Sheesh, I have evil characters of my own but I am quite sure I'm incapable of writing such a hysterical female stereotype. 

 

Oh, and just fyi if Blizzard doesn't offer Horde players a neutral way out of the faction I am not gonna renew my sub.

What they're doing to us is just horrifically disrespectful. This is not the Horde we signed for. 


	15. Undead dinosaur, blood mages, witches, oh my!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came a billion years after the last chapter cause I'm studying for exams,sorry. And I'm back to raiding in the weekends (we're stupidly casual and only raid 5 to 6 hours a week, so we're 6/8N yet, but it was all a lot of fun, especially dropping on Mythrax's head because we didn't know about the hole. Man, I laughed so hard my OT got embarrassed for me.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading this, for the kudos and the comments. I love you all! And...
> 
> Please please tell me what you think of how this story is shaping up, I am truly curious about how people perceive the things I'm dealing with in my writing.

THUMP squish THUMP squish THUMP squish THUMP squish

*Roaring*

THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP

“WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!”

*Screaming*

THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP

“WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!”

Kayn Sunfury had seen a lot of crazy stuff in his life as an Illidari, but the Ebon Blade stomping over the blood trolls with mind-controlled undead dinosaurs took the cake.

“WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!”

*Screams*

THUMP THUMP THUMP

*GROAN*

*SPLAT*

THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP

Nope, on second thought, as he stared at the huge dump on the road that had been a bunch of undead trolls a few minutes before, it took all the possible cakes ever baked.

“They are quite… enthusiastic, aren’t they?” Matron Mother Malevolence asked, standing beside the crumbling wall where Kayn was perched, watching the action on the Nazmir road.

“No kidding,” he replied.

They had moved into Nazmir three days ago, taking residence in a chilly, creepy temple belonging to some troll Loa Kayn didn’t care to remember. The Ebon Blade: Siouxsie, Lord Thorval, the Deathlord, plus the very, very thankful Thassarian and Koltira,  and the Illidari: Kayn, Mother Malevolence, the Slayer, Jace Darkweaver and Lady S’theno, plus Marius and Tehd Shoemaker (who wasn’t a member of the Illidari or the Ebon Blade but was a damn good warlock and Marius’ “plus one” besides) had scouted and industriously (the Illidari) or happier than kids breaking candy-stuffed piñatas (the Ebon Blade) killed all the undead and necromancers that infested the area.

The Death knights, the Illidari realized, viewed dispatching the undead and necromancers to the Shadowlands as their true calling in undeath. No guilt, no sadness, no regrets and definitely no restraint whatsoever marred their countenance during the bloodshed; in fact, even the normally circumspect Koltira seemed content and even had blown a raspberry at Siouxsie as she passed his killcount.

The Deathlord was the giddiest. He had been the first to dominate one of the enormous undead beasts that wandered through the swamps to rampage over the undead, and when the group stumbled on an enormous army of Blood Trolls going down a road, all hell broke loose as all the Death knights decided to race each other to see who could trample more enemies.

“WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!”

“Since you’re not doing anything, come help me hunt for food,” the Slayer said as he landed next to them. “Unless of course you want to eat those,” he pointed at the rotting carcasses the Death knights were riding on.

“I will be happy to assist you, Slayer,” Malevolence said with a horrified look at the undead beasts before they left. By now, all the Illidari had heard tales about what had passed for food back when the Ebon Blade worked under Arthas, and they knew that, even if they had complained about Nomi’s burnt food, in a pinch the Death knights would eat stuff that made the Legion’s rations seem delicious and still say it was better than what Corpulous used to make.

Half an hour later, the Death knights were looting what they could from the mountain of corpses while their Death Chargers and Kyranazstraz got rid of the evidence, like the good carnivores they were.

“Light, I can’t remember having this much fun in years,” Thassarian said, throwing a bag of gold coins up to the Deathlord, who stashed it on Kyranazstraz’s storage casket.

“Me neither, reminds me of Icecrown. Oh, those giant bone constructs…” Exu said wistfully.

“Remember that time we made our undead dinosaurs fight each other and mine ate Koltiras’ leg?” Siouxsie said in a taunting tone, and they laughed at Koltira’s angry huff.

“That was five minutes ago, but thank you for reminding us,” Thorval said. “Where are the Illidari? I thought I saw their Shivarra around here.”

“Probably ran away because of Siouxsie’s hungry stare,” Koltira said, counting the bandages they had found in the trolls’ belongings. “Remind me why we didn’t bring enough supplies again?”

“Because we don’t want people to notice we’re here, and excuse-me, it’s her fault for walking around with her bare-naked ass in my face,” Siouxsie answered, picking up a bundle of furs and throwing them at the Deathlord. The bundle hit Kyranazstraz’s snout, and the dragon groaned. “Sorry, baby,” Siouxsie said, and moved to pick up the fallen furs, rubbing a hand over the dragon’s face in an apology.

“You are such a slut, you were fucking that night-elf demon hunter just a couple of days ago!” Koltira taunted again.

Siouxsie gave him a humorous look. “Yes, her and a few other girls too, not everyone is seriously romantic like you two and the boss,” she said.

“What did I do now?” Exu asked, his head appearing from behind a tattered wing.

“Why, you and the Slayer are like a properly established married couple, like Thass and The Damsel,” Siouxsie said, and Koltira blew her a raspberry. She raised an eyebrow when the Deathlord gave her a deer in the headlights look.

“You didn’t tell him you love him, how’d you expect him to say it to you,” Malevolence said, deadpan, as they dressed the meat for transportation.

“Yes I did, I called him f’lbewld a couple times, isn’t that enough?” the Slayer asked with an irritated frown.

The Shivarra used two hands to cover her face. “By Sargeras’ corpse… Kayn, would you care to explain?”

“I am _not_ participating in this conversation,” Kayn muttered, his ears blood-red in embarrassment.

Malevolence took a deep breath. “Hundred, what language are we speaking right now?” she asked in a patient voice.

“Demonic, why?”

“What language did you elves speak in Azeroth before you joined Lord Illidan?”

“Thallassian. So?”

“What’s f’lbewld in Thallassian, Slayer?”

“Surfalo…” he stopped with his mouth open. “Ooooh.”

“Dear Titans, you karkuun are idiots, how did we ever win in Argus again?”

* * *

 

“How in Hellheim can you not know how he feels or tell him how _you_ feel? I mean, you _do_ love him, right?” Koltira asked in complete shock.

Exu gave him a terribly embarrassed look. “I, I, I, I, _I_ ain’t going nowhere, what’s the damned big deal with this fessing up about _feelings_ shit?”

“Well, does _he_ love you, though?” Koltira insisted.

“guuurghhhh…yeah? He never told me to bugger off…”

“Elune guide us, he’s as stupid as Thassarian,” Siouxsie said, resting her head in her hand.

They were back in Bwonsamdi’s temple, where the Deathlord had found them some actually liveable rooms to stay in with a modicum of privacy, plus a place with a ritual fire pit nobody even dared wonder what was for but that they decided to use for cooking and heat anyway.

“No I’m not, I told Koltira to go get with him!” the Deathlord said, outraged.

“Yeah, so you tell people what to do but you don’t do it yourself,” Thassarian said, an eyebrow raised, and the elf bristled.

“I would if we weren’t fucking, but we’re fucking, so we’re cool!”

“So he’s fucking you because he _loves_ you, not because you’re a good fuckbuddy he can fuck while someone more interesting doesn’t show up?” Siouxsie asked, deadpan.

Thorval had to cover his mouth to smother a snicker as Exu’s ears drooped after a couple minutes of silence.

“Good Elune, Deathlord…”

“… just tell him you’re serious about him, they’re just words, it’s not like you’re giving him one of your kidneys,” Malevolence said as they approached the temple on their felsabers, and waved over at where Lady S’theno, Jace, Marius and Tehd were seen coming back from their own errand up to the shore.

They were crossing the courtyard to get into the temple proper when they were joined by the other Illidari (and “friend”) group.

“We found a Naga settlement at the shore up northeast,” S’theno said. “And some strange turtle people. They seemed too fat though, so we didn’t kill any. Fat turtles make horrible soup.”

“We found some good fungus and some herbs for seasoning, though. Oh, and this, er, “lady”,” Tehd said, and motioned to the huge female blood troll Marius was dragging along.

“Good,” Hundred said, “I’ll bet our undead friends forgot to save anybody for questioning.”

Of course they had.

The Death knights were currently gathered around a cozy fire, freshened up and rid of their heavy plate armor, each wearing light clothing and only an oiled leather gambeson for protection.

“Oh my, thank you, er, I think I, er, got a little carried away in all the excitement,” Lord Thorval said, terribly embarrassed as the Illidari moved into the fire pit room, loaded with provisions. “I will take the prisoner for testing at… er…”

“There’s a room for preparing sacrifices in the floor above this one,” the Deathlord prompted, and grabbed the troll by an arm, unmindful of her growling. “I’ll help you take her there,” he said, giving the demon hunters a shy side-look before dragging the troll and Thorval away.

The meat was cooking by the time the Slayer got up and left the room silently, his left wing tip twitching slightly. Everyone watched with humor in their eyes, except for Malevolence, who was huddled in a corner trying to cover herself with her hands while Siouxsie stared predatorily.

Hundred took the stairs, following the growls and screams until he reached a room where the fat female blood troll was bound to a makeshift rack, and Thorval was busy inserting needles under her fingernails.

“Somehow I don’t think traditional torture will work to make her talk,” the Slayer commented.

“Hmmm? Oh, this isn’t for questioning, it’s for testing her blood magic,” Thorval explained, turning to him after moving to a table and picking up a length of truesilver wire, which he used to connect the needles. “Best way to learn is by example, I believe. With this method pain levels will be so high she’ll reflexively use her magic to heal herself, and then I can assess what spells and energies she’s using. I believe you can find the Deathlord at the entrance of the temple, he said he wanted, ahem, some fresh air.”

Hundred nodded. “We brought fresh meat, it should be done soon.”

Thorval smiled wickedly. “Thank you, but I think I’ll eat here. Good night, Slayer.”

Exu was leaning on the threshold of the temple entrance, legs crossed, looking out into the darkness, the only light the lichfire in his eyes.

Hundred hesitated, and then chided himself before moving to lean on the opposite side.

The Death knight fidgeted, looking sideways at him. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, but nothing came out.

Instead, after a while he stretched his arm out in invitation, and the Slayer heaved a breath, taking it.

They stood there, silently embraced.

Exu cleared his throat.

“I, uh,” he started, and looked away, wetting his lips nervously. Hundred was a couple of inches taller than him and that had never bothered him before, but now he felt heavy under his blind gaze.

Hundred raised his hands and removed his old, tattered blindfold. His eyesockets and the bridge of his nose were horribly disfigured by the burns that had destroyed his eyes; the little flesh that had remained was blackened, gristly ridges and bumps where it had imperfectly scarred over and over with the use of his fel magic. Unlike Illidan and most of the other demon hunters, there was no fel flame inside the empty sockets; Hundred’s magic was a well of fury, held under pressure inside his very bones before blowing out in battle. The result was that his mangled eyes and his scarred face made a visage that might inspire pity, if not for the fearsome horns and his permanently defiant expression.

He sighed. “Me too,” he whispered, and Exu pulled him in, kissing first his lips, then his eyes and all other scars.

They rested their foreheads together for a moment.

“Since we’re not going nowhere, can we, uh, stop with this froofy shit and go fuck or something? This is really uncomfortable,”the death knight said, and the demon hunter laughed, before kissing him again and donning his blindfold.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

 

 

That night almost nobody minded the various noises coming from the different rooms – especially since the loudest were from where Thorval worked on the Mada - until

“Yes! Yes! _Shove it up to your elbow_!”

sounded throughout the temple.

A minute passed, and then a door opened, two male heads in different stages of dishevelement peeking out with wide eyes.

“ _Put the other one in my ass_!”

The door closed hurriedly, and, not for the first time, both Thassarian and Koltira thanked their stars neither of them had anything to do with either Siouxsie or the Illidari.

The next morning, Malevolence limped her way to breakfast under heavy cheering and applause from everyone except Kayn, whose room was right next to Siouxsie’s and who had inadvertently turned on his ability to see through walls once that night, only to wish he could rip his eyes out all over again. He was hugging his knees on a corner and slowly rocking back and forth in shock.

“I hate you all,” she said, hissing as she sat down, and scowled at Lady S’theno. “Keep laughing, let’s see when she catches _you_.”

Siouxsie entered the room, and waved at the naga.

S’theno’s jaw shut with an audible click, and she swallowed dry.

* * *

 

 

Meanwhile…

“How _dare_ you try to arrest me? I am the Highlord of the Silver Hand!” Marcus roared, and reached for the Ashbringer (which he had spared from being used to siphon Sargeras’ sword; no way would he forgive himself to lose it like he lost the Truthguard), but Jaina raised her hand.

“Please, Marcus, don’t. We… we’ll get a way out of this, I promise.”

He turned his stormy gray eyes to her, frowning. “Lady Jaina!”

“Just go with them. Remember, we have come to make amends, not war.”

And so it was that Marcus spent a whole week in the can, submerged in the smell of rotting fish – damn these coastal cities – until a new prisoner was brought in.

“The name’s Flynn, and my client in Boralus is paying a king’s ransom to get you out of here.”

Half an hour of creative battling later, they were on a boat leading to Boralus Harbor, and a few hours after that, Marcus had already received orders from Genn Greymane to help gain the Kul’tirans’ trust and was hastily boarded in a ferry for Drustvar.

As he swatted at the pesky mosquitoes and flies all throughout the trip, he could only envy whatever it was his Horde counterparts were going through. After all, mosquitoes didn’t attack the dead, did they?

* * *

 

 

Athair slept, curled around the tiny, tiny seedling.

The wicker druids around him came wearily, smelling cautiously, and retreated quickly when the deity raised his head and huffed, before curling tighter around the plant.

At Stormwind, Wrathion watched over Calia’s sleep with one eye as she reflexively hugged his snout. He breathed magic over her belly, and sang in a frequency too high for humans to hear.

The baby answered.

In Onyxia’s old lair, Left raised her head, and nodded.

“Keep working, you lazy dragonsworn! The master watches!” she yelled.

* * *

 

 

‘Malfurion, my love… what is it you hide from me?’ Tyrande thought while watching over what remained of the priesthood of Elune prepare for the night’s prayers.

Malfurion had been withdrawn since the fall of Teldrassil, but the last weeks had brought a new desperation to his mood. He spent inordinate amounts of time away in the Emerald Dream, and refused to tell her what he was searching for.

Even worse, he had stopped coming to the nightly prayers. That had raised concerns among the Kal’dorei survivors, concerns Tyrande had been dissipating with increasing difficulty. If only her love talked to her!

“Shan’do, please, are there no answers for me in the Dream?” Malfurion asked, falling on his knees.

Weeks on end he had searched for an explanation to what had happened to Vereesa’s child, with no results. Alexsztraza had been no help, her status as Lifebinder forfeit long ago. The elements refused to communicate with the shamans about this issue, and talking to Magni had only brought the diamond dwarf to tears.

Even worse, he himself had begun feeling the rage emanating from Life itself. Creatures of the land had become increasingly more aggressive, peaceful plants now began to become toxic for consumption, diseases that were easy to heal were now beginning to win over the healers’ best efforts.

He had hidden all this from Tyrande; her hatred toward the Horde was such she was beyond reach. Anduin was dead set into destroying Sylvanas; in his mind, only that would end the war.

And Malfurion himself was unable to reach towards the Horde druids. His heart was too broken over Teldrassil as well. So many of his people dead had broken his faith in peace; witnessing Tauren druids fighting against Night Elf druids, defending that which would remorseless destroy everything in her path… it had been too much for him.

So he had retreated into the Emerald Dream, his last recourse… but the Dream was different.

Entire areas of it, places he knew, were closed off by dense vegetation. The inhabitants of the Dream eluded him, and he had searched fruitlessly for days.

Cenarius was his only hope.

“ _My Tero’shan_ …”

“Shan’do?” Malfurion asked, jumping to alertness. His ears perked up, trying to find where the whisper had come from.

“ _My Tero’shan, what are the mortals doing?_ ”

“Shan’do? Cenarius? Where are you?” Malfurion shouted, running around.

“ _Malfurion…”_

He skidded to a stop, and screamed in terror as Cenarius’ form coalesced in front of him.

Cenarius was shackled to the ground by brambles, and his eyesockets were empty, dried blood marring his visage.

“No! Who did this to you?” Malfurion yelled, running to his master’s side.

Cenarius sobbed, and raised a hand in plea. “Azeroth… Azeroth overran us all, Tero’shan…” the demigod faltered.

“The Emerald Dream… the Pact between the Titans, the Wild Gods, the Loa… it is broken. Life won’t answer to us anymore… we are now prisoners in this realm that Eonar made for it.”

“How… how is this possible?”

“ _Azeroth… she agonizes…”_

“Ysera…”

The green dragon appeared in her elven form, shackled and blinded like her adoptive son. “We were only allowed speak to you this once, Malfurion, so heed our call: this war that you mortals waste your time on will be your last. Warn the mortals, Malfurion, for soon the true King of the World will heed the calling of his child… and there will be nothing that can stop his wrath.”

Malfurion felt a chill fill his bones. “Nothing? But we stopped the Mad Titan!”

“ _Nothing_ , Tero’shan. Save Azeroth now, or nothing will save _you_.”


	16. How to snatch a cat death knight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I am still alive.  
> Sorry for the ridiculous delay but I had finals and I HAD to pass this semester, man. 
> 
> So I'm only back to writing anything that isn't science-related now.  
> The next actual chapter of this story is still being worked on but this filler budged in. I was even gonna publish it separate so that sensitive stomachs wouldn't be offended but eh, if you're squeamish or you can't deal with unconventional moral sets you can just skip this. 
> 
> If you're not, and you like seeing Kayn Sunfury suffering from terminal embarrassment for once instead of poor Darion, have fun. 
> 
> It's the story of how the infamous DK/DH couple met, still from back in "The Acherus Chronicles" days.
> 
> Lemme know what you think if you can, you know I'm a sucker for comments and kudos.

Exu landed on an empty spot of the small floating island, after curiously flying around it several times.

The Acherus was already at the Broken Shore when Khadgar had teleported Dalaran there, an endeavor that had left everyone in the city terribly sick for a whole day. Soon afterward, mages had opened portals for different Orders to return to their headquarters, for those who didn’t have a handy Death Gate.

He had been busy with retrieving the Maw of the Damned, so his first contact with the Illidari was seeing one of them jump off Krasus’ Landing. Curiosity made him hang around for the inevitable splash, but it hadn’t come. Instead, another Illidari had landed, flying with her own wings.

_Khadgar pushed his jaw closed with a finger. “Yes, they are quite the sight, aren’t they?”_

_Exu nodded, and gave Khadgar a side look. “Funny to see them here when they’re stationed all the way out in Azsuna.”_

_Khadgar shook his head. “They’ve made a small post halfway between Dalaran and the Acherus, with a portal who knows where to. And no, non-Illidari cannot use it; I already tried,” he said, pouting._

Darion had already crossed paths with one of the demon hunters at the Legerdemaine and been entirely unimpressed with their demeanor.

_“Can you people believe she said she had sacrificed everything to fight the Legion? She asked me what I had given! Me!” he had all but shouted, livid._

And now here Exu was, poking around at the Illidari Redoubt.

He dismissed Diccus, pulled on a dark hood the same color of his sleek leathers, and checked to make sure the Maw – who had become seriously attached to him, to the point it made an absolute nuisance of itself whenever he left it behind, and thus bullied its way into becoming his main weapon, because Exu was very attached to his own head and everyone at home gave him not-suble-at all hints of what they’d do to it if the Maw spent another day bawling its skull off – was well attached to his back.

He started to strafe closer to the clearing where the portal stood, twirling a smoke bomb in his hand.

One – one! – demon hunter was camped next to the portal, looking bored as all hell. Exu watched as another landed, waved, and went to the portal, simply putting a hand on it before passing through. He grinned.

After a few minutes, Exu threw the smoke bomb at the portal, and as the guard jumped in ready to attack, he slid in, tripping the demon hunter over and rolling through the portal as it “accidentally” activated.

He stood on the other side, only to find himself surrounded by the Illidari forces.

“Er… hi?” he said, pulling the hood off and giving them a bright smile as he held his hands up, only to be poked by a warglaive. “Ow! I’m just your neighbor! Hey what’s that fish smell – Ouch! Oh you still got your own Naga? Ow! Can you just be civil for a minute? This is no way to treat a guest, you know! Hey, you keep on poking that, it’ll bite your finger off -” he babbled as he was dragged around by the Illidari, searched for weapons and pushed down on his knees.

“We found thissss trying to ssssneak in. What should we do with it?” a female Naga asked, pushing Exu’s head down by the nape.

“One of Arthas’ _Scourge_. We should kill it at once!” A brunet blood elf demon hunter snarled, hefting one of his warglaives beside his naked torso.

Exu wondered then if demon hunters were insensitive to cold, like he was. Sure, the Broken Isles were warm and damp – so damp that the Acherus’ skeletal personnel had to start using anti-fungi balms on their bones, else the ghouls start growing mushrooms on them for sale – but even though this place wasn’t nearly as cold as the Acherus, what with Amalthazad’s Lich rivals’ frozen phylacteries powering it (he had an entire collection from the former Scourge, and his favorite pastime was choosing who would be tormented for use as the Acherus’ fuel), it was quite drafty; the demon hunters and the few demons around them were apparently the only source of heat around.

Exu felt the strong blast of heat even before he saw the crowd part; booted and sandaled feet making way for bare, leathery, clawed ones.

“Have you hurt our enforcer to get here, death knight?” a gritty voice asked calmly.

“No… well not if you don’t count his pride, I mean, I wouldn’t have fallen for that trick in a million years, but – Ow!”

“S’theno, please don’t pull on elf ears. I’m sure they hurt, even when dead,” the demon hunter said, and the hand holding Exu’s head down let him go.

He raised his head slowly, more in fear of being whacked again, but noticing the strong and quite naked legs before him, and the tiny, minuscule black loincloth leaving nearly nothing to the imagination. It was that, a slim belt and leather armguards the entirety of the blood elf’s attire – no, wait, there was also a non-descript rag around his head, no light illuminating where his eyes should be like most of the other demon hunters.

The elf’s face was scarred, but good-looking in a rugged sort of way. He was clean-shaven, as were most of the demon hunters, had horns as big as the brunet that had addressed him earlier (who was standing to the side making an angry face at him) but his hair was a long, straight, voluptuous shock of silky red that went beautifully with his altered, some places scaly, crimson-toned skin and the bright tattoos... huh?

Exu had to stretch his neck to examine the marks, which he quickly realize weren’t tattoos, but scars carved into the elf’s torso, the very flesh beneath them glowing yellowish-green. He looked at the other elves; theirs were obviously tattoos, fel magic vibrating from them but restricted to the skin.

He looked at his face and sure enough, the scars in it showed glowing flesh, as well.

“Uh, nice to make your acquaintance, I’m Exu, recently made Deathlord of the Ebon Blade, er, over next door, um, at the Acherus?” he mumbled, and smiled sheepishly.

The demon hunter smirked. “Lorin. No one calls me that, though. Either Slayer, or Hundred. And this,” he spread his arms; one empty, the other holding the Maw of the Damned, “is the Fel Hammer, our humble abode and center of operations.”

“Hundred you are _not_ entertaining the idea of welcoming him as a _visitor_ , are you?” the brunet demon hunter nearly howled in outrage.

“Kayn, do I have to remind you there _is_ a reason why Master Illidan made _me_ responsible for the Illidari in his absence?”

The brunet – Kayn – huffed, but went quiet.

“Ok everyone, back to whatever you were doing, move along. And someone go smack some sense into Keyalan at the Redoubt, for crying out loud. I gave him gloves for a reason,” the Slayer said, and offered a hand, which the death knight accepted to get up.

Now that the commotion had stopped, Exu looked around curiously. The ship was much like all the other Legion ships around the Broken Isles; the main difference was the amount of rags and cushions strewn all over the floor of the main round room. Some demon hunters lay down, falling asleep soon despite the fel lights illuminating the place; others bantered with each other good-naturedly, turning their heads at him now and then. A Naga female slithered around carrying a basket of cardboard-looking slices of food and a pitcher of water.

There was a cold draft coming from the other side of the large room they were in; the ship had two balconies open to the outside, one opposite the other, and the Naga and Broken shivered now and then, bringing the roughspun clothing they wore closer to their bodies.

“You undead don’t feel cold, do you?” the Slayer asked him as he led the way through a corridor to the ship’s lower levels.

“Forsaken do,” Exu explained. “Death Knights aren’t sensible to it, only to heat. Do you?”

“The fel magic in us generates… uncomfortable amounts of heat, so we welcome low temperatures.”

They entered a room with a large Nathrezim contained. The demon gave them a forlorn look.

“Loramus, this is our guest from Azeroth, the Deathlord of the Ebon Blade. We’ll be down at the training level for a while,” the Slayer said, held Exu’s arm with his unoccupied hand after securing Exu’s weapon under his other arm, and quickly murmured an incantation in Demonic while touching a fel crystal, teleporting them to another room.

This one was also rounded and even larger than the main room in the ship, open in several places and nearly empty, only a couple of Shivarra present.

They gave them an alarmed look, but lowered their heads as the Slayer raised his hand, and left hurriedly as soon as he reached a fel sigil across the room.

Exu grabbed for his weapon reflexively when it was suddenly thrown to him.

“You’ll understand I can’t show you the entire ship, or where it’s located.”

“Of course. You’re using enemy technology, if they find out you’d be screwed.”

“Yes,” the Slayer said. “That doesn’t mean we need to kick you out, of course. I heard about your… curse. We have a similar situation. The fel energies coursing through our bodies makes us exceedingly aggressive, and we need regular outlets for our rage,” he explained. “The war supplies us with enough kills, but we still find it fun to summon some of the Legion’s stronger  demons here, where we can be as… _cruel_ to them as we see fit,” he finished with, had he had any eyes, would be a pointed look.

Exu’s mouth watered, and he swallowed.

“Nobody told us that,” he murmured as the demon hunter performed the summoning, and got a smirk in return.

The demon that appeared was an enormous Mo’arg, who immediately roared in fury at them, spittle flying everywhere.

They took their sweet time subduing it, in which Exu realized that pain fueled the demon hunter’s strength and that he healed, much like a death-knight, by inflicting wounds on his opponent, that their fighting styles complemented each other, and that they were going to test each other in a duel if it were the last thing he did in unlife.

He also realized the Slayer made him extremely, unavoidably aroused, something that no male had accomplished in a long time, just when the demon yelled in desperation as Hundred, on all fours over their prey, started pulling the skin off its face with his teeth.

Exu stopped his methodic carving of the demon’s hip (which he was doing to better pluck at its cyatic nerve like a guitar string) to watch the demon hunter claw the demon’s eyes out with a growl and an impressive hard-on pushing on the tiny loincloth.

Now, being male himself he knew that erections could be caused by adrenaline and didn’t really necessarily mean the person having one was horny; but _he_ was, so he decided that he was in a safe enough distance from the deliciously sadistic elf that he could make the useful – killing a demon and thus pushing the Endless Hunger away – quite enjoyable, and thus surreptitiously pulled his left glove off , sheathed the Maw on his back and slipped his left hand inside his own pants, adjusting himself so he could discreetly rub against the demon’s leg as he quietly appreciated the demon hunter’s job and helped torture the creature by pulling on its exposed nerve as well.

Hundred shoved the end of each warglaive in the creature’s eyesockets, and pulled them with unnatural strength, breaking its skull in two while it yelled its last breath, and drank the power-infused blood that fountained from its mangled arteries.

“By the Sunwell, that’s hot,” the Deathlord mumbled without even noticing, and swallowed dry as the Slayer turned so fast he actually _flickered_ and pushed him down on the floor, the blood pool created by their work soaking his hair and body, the scents of it and the demon’s pain-induced piss filling his nostrils with the demon hunter’s own musk and making him dizzy with _wanting_ this monster, a monster, yes, just like him.

Hundred ripped Exu’s pants open with a bloodied claw.

“You can’t hide anything from a demon hunter; our sight is not bound to where our eyes were,” he growled. “Good to see the rumors about you people were true. I’m going to ride you now. Any problem with that?”

“No,” the death knight said in a very small voice.

* * *

 

 

Kayn had just come back from the surface and entered the Fel Hammer when he noticed a large cluster of demon hunters and Shivarra in a circle, whispering to each other, the Shivarra looking down fixedly, drooling, the Naga and Broken of the Illidari giving them a huge berch.

He approached cautiously.

“And now?”

“They’re covered with it and Hundred’s licking it off his fingers,” Allari said.

“Oh shit that’s hot,” a Shivarra groaned.

“I will never want for porn material ever again,” Jace agreed, adjusting himself.

“ _And now?_ ” another female demon asked, bouncing on her toes.

“Good Elune they’re gonna kiss! They’re gonna kiss!” Alari said, and the females squealed in unison, completely oblivious to anything around them.

“What in the Fel is going on?” Kayn demanded loudly, and the crowd jumped, falling in a tangle of limbs and surprised sounds.

His still existent palpebrae narrowed, and he focused his spectral sight on the floor.

At first all he saw was the middle floor, where Loramus was covering his ears, beet-red while Kor’vas said something, her head also turned down to the floor.

Kayn focused his power on his sight and breached to the bowels of the Fel Hammer.

“ _What does he think he’s doing to our Slayer?_ ”

* * *

 

 

Kayn crossed the portal and stomped his way back inside the ship glaring daggers at the elf calmly discussing logistics with Matron Malevolence.

“The…” he swallowed and took a deep breath before continuing, “visitor has been safely delivered back to his _necropolis_ ,” he said, putting all his distaste in the last word, his ears beet-red.

“Thank you, Malevolence,” the Slayer said, and the Shivarra moved away, curiosity still plain in her features. “Kayn?”

“Yes, Slayer.”

“You should try one sometime, their body just suck the excess heat out of ours in the most pleasurable way. Not the Deathlord, though. That one is _mine_ ,” Hundred said, giving him a shit-eating grin.

Kayn covered his face with both hands, and groaned.


	17. Life has mysterious ways

“It’s not my fault, all right?”

“Boysss”

“Of course it is, you were supposed to wake up early, not sleep like the dead!”

“Boysssss!”

“Oh well maybe your habits are rubbing off on me!”

Lady S’theno covered her face with her palms. Who had had the brilliant idea of running off to investigate with these two? Oh. Yeah, she had, after she had caught the female death knight staring at her and moving a finger suggestively over what, in S’theno, was her cloacal opening.

“I can’t even _try_ to be romantic without you screwing up royally, can I?”

“How was I gonna guess you left me a damned love note before hunting for breakfast? I’m _blind_ , remember? Also, how the hell is a damned Legion demon around _here_?”

“There’s still demons everywhere, those fucking idiot factions didn’t even give us time to properly clean up the place! Now look what you did, Sylvanas will go spare when she finds out one of the Forsaken is _fraternizing_ with a night elf! And a male! She’ll send all her Dark Rangers after us!”

S’theno had had more than she could endure, so she sidled next to them and banged their heads together.

“Sstop arguing or I’ll have _you_ for breakfasssst!” she hissed. Tehd and Marius gave her a sheepish look, and she grimaced. “You stink so much I’ll have to wash with seaweed soap before infiltrating,” she said, and slithered away.

“Hey, I’ll let you know I bathe in fel every day, that’s all I smell of!” Tehd argued, offended.

“Exactly,” S’theno replied. “The elves at least have their own musk to soften the blow, you smell like the most rotten egg to ever have rotted in Argus. Ew.”

Tehd resocketed his jaw, shocked, and stared at Marius. “Do I really smell that bad? I always thought you guys were just running a traditional Forsaken joke!”

“Don’t ask me, my sense of smell was lost long ago,” Marius answered with a shiver at the memory of sneezing while trying to cast his first Fel Beam. He turned to face Tehd. “What do you mean, ‘and a male’?”

“Oh, she’s really old-fashioned like that. Vain woman; all male Forsaken are supposed to fawn over her beauty or something. It was all we could do to not drop our eyeballs inside our own skulls, they rolled up so hard whenever she walked by the Mage District.”

“I thouth all you Fowshaken lofft ‘er,” S’theno commented through a bite of roasted mackerel.

Tehd shrugged. “Most of us nowadays are young in undeath, the rot took many that battles didn’t kill. There aren’t many that remember the Lich King’s death.”

He stared into the distance, his expression troubled. “Even before she wasn’t all there, but we always thought with Arthas dead… eh, actually we thought all of us would die too, that the magic would just dissipate. I mean, it’s what happens with us magic users. But we didn’t. And then she became… _this_ ,” he said with a wave of his hand. “It’s not right, you know. Using people for her own means. It’s what we killed Arthas for, if we do it ourselves, aren’t we no better than him?”

Daglop froze where he was, and stared at Tehd, his head tilting.

“Don’t you even look at me like that; we have a contract, a business deal. It’s not the same at all!”

* * *

 

 

“Shit shit shit shit shit shit…”

Curious prisoners came to their cell doors to check what was the current commotion.

“Shit shit shit shit shit shit!”

“Hey, Hylarious? What’s goin’ on?” an old embezzler yelled, and the Death Knight turned back, standing at the cell door, running in place and looking behind him.

“You didn’t see me or I ain’t bringing you them apples you like so much anymore!” he snarled, before taking off again.

The old man made a zipping gesture over his lips. “All right gents and ladies, nothin’ to see here, let’s all give ‘em our best behavior!” he shouted, and every prisoner scurried back to their cots, as far away from the doors as they could.

“Shit shit shit shit shit!” Hylarious whispered as he reached Saurfang’s cell. He and Angus Stonehammer were curved over letters, maps and notes sent to them by the various spies and Order infiltrates around Azeroth, and only raised their heads when the eerie sound of a Deathgate being summoned reached them.

“Och lad, whatta – whoa!” the dwarf exclaimed as Hylarious unceremoniously threw him through the gate.

“Sorry bout that,” the human said as he hastily gathered the papers and shoved them through the gate without looking, “Captain can’t see any o’this and he’s coming.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah; oh. Stormrage is with him, the one with the antlers. Be careful, please,” Hylarious said as he dispelled the gate and started to clear up the plates and leftover food they kept on Saurfang’s table as an emergency excuse for that exact sort of situation. Saurfang sat at a corner, and schooled his expression as the sounds of more people approaching could be heard.

“Yes, he is watched around the clock. We detached a Death Knight for the task; a very industrious man, hardly ever needs rest. Too bad the Ebon Blade demands they go back for their… replenishment, as they call it. The old orc could use some torture, in my humble opinion,” said the Captain, putting a derisive touch to the last.

Malfurion gave him an angered noise, and the man smiled cruelly. “Good to know you agree, your Excellency. Well, here we are. The beast itself. Hylarious, what are you doing in there, boy? I thought you were on your lunch break!” he said, and turned to whisper, “They do eat, but at least it’s not people like those wretched Forsaken; don’t be afraid, milord.”

The guard – his deathly pallor and lichfire-lit eyes giving him away as undead, even though his body wasn’t rotted through – bowed to them. “’m sorry, Captain. I had forgotten to clear the dishes away; wouldn’t want our important visitor to feel sick with the smell. Um, excuse me,” he said humbly, and scurried away with his head down.

“See? Poor sod, just a sad monster, really,” the Captain said, and bowed for Malfurion to get in after himself.

“Leave us,” Malfurion growled, and the Captain left, locking the door with a cruel smirk.

Saurfang met Malfurion’s stare with calm, open eyes. He felt no fear for himself, and knew, if he was to be slain, he had at least given what little he could of himself to save, if not the Horde itself, its people.

Malfurion, on the other hand, was battling the impulse to shapeshift and rip the orc’s neck open: it was look at him and see Teldrassil burning, his people dying, their very wisps being destroyed.

“Did you hope I would break as you burned my home, Horde filth?” he asked. No amount of fealty to his druidic duty could hold him from confronting Saurfang over that, and he knew what he wanted the Orc to say, even though he expected differently.

“No.”

Malfurion blinked, startled not by the response, but by the tone in which it was given.

“I have defiled my own soul once before. The things I did will haunt me forever. When I joined Thrall’s Horde, I swore I would never allow that to happen again,” Saurfang said, his voice low with regret, pausedly. “When Garrosh tried to defile what that Horde was, I was one of the first to join Vol’jin and defy him, because the Horde had become my family, and the one hope I had of redemption. Especially after my Dranosh was taken from me.”

Saurfang pulled his legs up, and rested his arms over his knees. “When Vol’jin died, I could not believe he had put Sylvanas in power. Though the other races tolerated her, we all knew she had… changed, after the Lich King died. The things she did disgusted even Garrosh. And after what happened to Cairne, Mak’gora became tainted. What hope could I have to challenge her and not be killed with trickery?” he asked, and waited, until Malfurion huffed and nodded in agreement.

“We were to cause havoc and mayhem in Lordanell to conceal the goblins that were sent to steal your Azerite stores and to make your people and the Worgen send your forces to where we could ambush them. It was already a dishonorable strategy. The burning of your home was not…” Saurfang paused, and sighed. “All I can say, Archdruid Stormrage, is that I, personally, had no part in it. I had, in so many other crimes, but not that. And still, I grieve in shame.”

“Is that why you let yourself be captured, then? Not so you could cajole favor with the inexperienced human king? Stab the Alliance on the back, like you did me?” Malfurion snorted.

Saurfang’s knuckles cracked, and he took several deep breaths.

* * *

 

 

Meanwhile, in Kultiras…

“Wait a minute, are we walking in circles? We’re walking in circles! You son of a bitch!” Marcus grabbed Flynn Fairwind by the collar and shook him back and forth.

“Ugh, I… urghhh blurghhhhwooouuurghhhhh,” vomited Flynn. “Ah, much better. Hmmm… we went right last time, so it MUST be left! Think my head’s finally clearing up. Thanks for the shake, my friend!” he said, and took the left fork of the road, leaving Marcus frozen in place, mouth agape and covered in undesirable fluids.

* * *

 

 

Saurfang patted Malfurion’s back.

“My poor Shan’do….” Malfurion sobbed. “You bastards started this war and now my poor Shan’do is suffering, my people are dead, Tyrande won’t talk to me because I’ve gone to the Emerald Dream instead of planning how to take Darkshore back, Azeroth wants to kill us all…”

Saurfang sighed, and moved to the cell door. “Psst. Hylarious,” he called quietly. “I know you’re there, boy.”

The Death Knight moved sheepishly into his line of sight. “Sorry sir, didn’t want to hear anything, I was just”

Saurfang waved the apology away. “Go get Angus. I think we might’ve got ourselves an ally.”

Hylarious blinked, peered behind him, nodded and moved away.

* * *

 

 

Meanwhile, in Tiragarde Sound,

“Stop right there!” Minerva shouted, stomping towards Nathanos Blightcaller. “You’re not gonna raise the fucking enemy, are you? What the hell did we kill them for then?”

“Their destiny was to become Forsaken anyway, much as all of their kind,” Nathanos growled derisively. “She will be more amenable to helping us, now that she is Undead and thus has no worth to the Alliance. Now move, go about your business. You will be called if I need you again.”

Minerva swallowed and began counting in her head as she stalked away, feeling as defiled as when she had woken in the Acherus, raised for the second time to fight for the Scourge.

She had truly lost her mind back then; for an entire week, she laughed constantly, unable to stop herself.

“What’s so funny, wretched woman?” Arthas himself had asked as he noticed her around the Acherus, and she had doubled over, guffawing, before he raised her chin with a detached sort of delicateness, and backhanded her hard enough that her jaw had dropped off.

She had snapped out of her hysteria, but the world was never the same; it was askew, in a way it wasn’t even during her first unlife.

It was the main reason she finally joined the Ebon Blade, after Icecrown Citadel fell. Darion Mograine had kneeled in front of her cell, where she gnawed on her own bones, the pain only serving to feed the Eternal Hunger in a loop of madness.

He had offered her two choices: release in the true death, or to remain among the living, damned, to keep the dead safe in their graves and the living safe from undeath; so that no one would feel what she was feeling then.

He called it redemption; she called it mercy.

And now she was again forced to work for someone like Arthas, spitting on the mercy the Ebon Blade had given her.

She rode away and opened a Death Gate as soon as she was out of sight.

As she crossed it, the only thing holding her together was knowing the punishment the Deathlord and Darion were going to bestow upon Sylvanas and Nathanos would be legendary.

* * *

 

 

Meanwhile, elsewhere in Kultiras…

“And then that rotten, despicable, _evil_ Deathlord raised our great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, which is why I need your help and… look out, there’s another one! Kill it!”

“Er, but you’re much bigger and more powerful than I am and anyways”

“Highlord Marcus! Now I’m gonna get this dragon as a mount to make up for you Paladins denying us Tirion Fordring, not just because I’m jealous of my former boss!”

“But I already talked that over with Exu for crying out loud!”

“ ** _Shut up and kill that death knight or I’ll punt you off this mountain!_** ”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, _all right_!”

* * *

 

 

“Och, I will never get used ta travel through these things,” Angus groaned. Good thing he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, or this would be the second time he’d be decorating someone’s floor today, he reckoned as he shook his head.

“Move along, short stuff,” Minerva said, pushing him. “Wow, they got themselves a cushy number here, Highlord! Much better than that shiny pyramid in Zuldazar, all those damned stairs…”

“Minerva, please go fetch us something for the Archdruid to sit on,” Darion huffed under Malfurion’s weight.

“Here, I’ll take him,” Saurfang offered, and easily picked the night elf off Darion’s back.

“ _Surrender_ to the Ebon Bla- oh, it’s you. What are you doing here?” Thassarian asked, and sheathed his swords. “Is that _Malfurion Stormrage_? And _Saurfang_?”

“Yes,” Saurfang said, and passed by the stunned human.

“Calm down boy, Nazgrim is sitting back in his cell, nobody’s gonna notice,” Thoras Trollbane said, slapping Thassarian’s back. “Where’s everyone?”

“Half the Illidari left to scout Naga activity in Zuldazar, Lord Thorval formed a party with the others and went searching for blood trolls witch doctors, the boss is patrolling out with the Slayer,” Thassarian said, leading the newcomers to the firepit room.

At that moment, another Death Gate opened, and the Deathlord walked through it. “Give him some of this to chew on, and do the same please,” he said, handing Saurfang a bunch of small clover-like herbs before leaving the room with Darion Mograine on his heels.

Saurfang raised an eyebrow. “Is he always like this?” he asked, and Thassarian gave him a sheepish look.

“The boss has been acting a little… peculiar lately. Please don’t mind him,” he said.

Saurfang shrugged and sniffed on the herbs, before chewing on them and offering some to Malfurion, who was grudgingly coming back to consciousness.

Saurfang’s stomach had been reviled as he crossed the Death Gate, but the herbs should’ve been to ease the symptoms, because he did feel better, if a bit light-headed.

Malfurion lowered his head between his knees, chewing the herbs without thinking, and then shook his head.

“Feeling better?” Darion asked as he returned, approaching them, and Malfurion nodded, standing. Darion beckoned them to follow him.

They went down several flights of stairs, and were led into a high-ceiling inner sanctum, where the Deathlord waited for them, a small brazier at his feet.

“Um, I brought Malfurion here because,” Saurfang started, only to see the elf throw a handful of herbs in the hot coals, and a loud, terrifying laugh erupt in the large room.

“We know why ya bring da Father of da Cenarion Circle, yes,” a troll voice, laced with malice, boomed, and Saurfang took a step back at the vision before him.

Malfurion trembled. “The Loa of Death.”

“Bwonsamdi, yes,” the decayed troll nodded at him.

“Why… why is Azeroth attacking the Emerald Dream?” Malfurion asked.

“Because it smells of de Titans,” Bwonsamdi said. “Azeroth knows there be others like her, but she be afraid of them. Understandable, considerin’ what Sargeras did. Magni can only hear her, not talk to her. She be angry and hurt, and she lashed out at those she knows exist who can heal, but haven’t.”

Malfurion noticed the careful wording, and frowned. “There’s someone who can heal Azeroth that she doesn’t know about,” he stated.

“Yes, there is. One as old as Bwonsamdi, as old as the King. One even da trolls forgot… but da witches didn’t.”

“Who?”

Bwonsamdi’s face went soft, and he smiled fondly.

“Erzulie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter than usual but I preferred to cut it there, it seemed a good place.   
> Don't know if I'm gonna get to finish the next one this year (lol) but it'll come soon :D 
> 
> Meantime, 
> 
> HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!


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